Excitant
by Meowmers
Summary: DISCONTINUED."His fingers traced the shape of her throat, gently resting against her collar bone. And when he kissed her, he kissed her deeply. Until she couldn't just feel him on her skin or on her lips, but in her bones." Hermione wakes up in a body that is not her own, in a time long past, in the arms of a monster. Tomione. M-Rated.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter I

Hermione Granger found herself having the most wonderful dream. She couldn't grasp just what she was seeing, if she was seeing anything at all really, but she knew she felt lovely and warm. Maybe it was dark, or maybe there was sunshine, she couldn't tell; this was a dream after all, and her dreams seldom held clarity of thought. There was a voice, though she didn't know whose, calling. She couldn't make out its words, but the sound of it engulfed her, and she felt a sharp chill.

The chill stayed, and the warmth very slowly faded away. The voice stayed, growing louder, actually, booming in her head. Her whole body throbbed then, pain and cold filling her senses. She gripped desperately to the warmth but it slipped away, and she was soon aware that the cold was a hard presence at her back, and the throbbing which once resonated throughout her whole body retreated to reside in her head only, pounding against her skull without mercy.

She became increasingly aware of her appendages, sprawled out like a starfish on the cold ground. Where was she? She couldn't open her eyes, the unconscious part of her fearing that whatever was pounding relentlessly against her forehead would escape through her eyes. Instead, she scrunched them shut, twitching her fingers until she was able to clench her fists. Why couldn't she move?

She heard the voice again, once the throbbing in her head gave way for the sound. She relaxed at it, though she didn't know why. What was the voice saying? She strained to listen but heard nothing. Somewhere outside of her consciousness she felt something against her arm. It could be the air, or the ground, or perhaps a hand, closing its fingers around her upper arm and shaking slightly. Was it slightly? Maybe it was violently. She found she couldn't tell the difference, and in a more alert state she might have been frightened by the ghost hand. Who was there?

Pins and needles took over her body, and though she wanted to squirm through the feeling, she still could not move. She pictured television static in her mind, waiting for the feeling to subside. The voice was back, a man's voice she now realized. She didn't recognize it, still distant enough to keep its words secret, but she heard its tone, felt it tumble from this mystery man's mouth and wash over her, covering her, sliding over her unmoving body like velvet.

Her muscles began to ache then, and she rejoiced in the feeling, moving a leg, and then another, and then an arm, and then the other, before blinking her eyes open. Her head still pounded, and she was thankful that the room was dark. Where was she?

The hand was back, resting against her cheek and turning her to face the source. Her eyes blurred, but she could see pale skin. Was that a moving mouth? Perhaps dark hair? She blinked, and blinked again, begging her sight to clear. Who was this man?

Where was she?

She coughed then, only once, but it soon turned into a mess of coughing and hacking, and the hands moved to her shoulders, helping her to turn on her side. When she was done her head throbbed with renewed vigor, and her throat scratched, but she could see clearly. She moved herself up to a sitting position, the hands following her. She looked up to the stranger's face.

Taking a moment to allow herself a good shock, she froze. She was correct in the paleness of his skin, and dark hair did top his head, curling across his forehead and slicked back behind his ears. It was too dark to determine the color of his eyes, though she pictured them red, the same red she had always known.

She wouldn't scream, she decided, her head still throbbing as she threw herself back from him and reached for her wand. It wasn't there. In fact, she wasn't even sure what she was wearing. He looked shocked now, watching her from her spot a few feet away from him. When she tried to speak, to demand he giver her back her wand—because the only explanation for it being out of her possession was that he stole it—she erupted into another coughing fit. She felt his hands on her before she realized he had moved, and she flinched away.

"Don't..." She managed before continuing to hack into her hand._ Don't touch me_, is what she meant to say, but she never quite finished. He pulled his wand out then, she noticed, as she desperately tried to stop coughing, scrambling away to crouch against the wall.

_This is the end,_ she thought. _Everything we've fought for, and Voldemort has still regained his youth and has come to finish us off. _

But her coughing stopped, and her throat cleared, and he put his wand away.

"What are you doing sleeping in the girls bathroom?" He questioned, sounding much kinder than she could have ever imagined.

"What are you doing here?" She demanded, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. "What do you want?"

He looked shocked, though she couldn't imagine why. He narrowed his eyes, walking towards her. She thrust her hand out, shaking her head. She was afraid if she spoke she might cough again so she said nothing. He did stop, surprising her.

"It's me, it's just me. Why are you afraid?" He sounded concerned, Hermione realized, and she let him approach her. He placed his hands on her arms, sliding up to her shoulders, and she nearly screamed. Instead, she flinched.

"Let me take you to the infirmary." He said, and Hermione remained silent. She had no wand, she had already checked thrice. She was at the mercy of the Dark Lord, it seemed, and she prayed to whoever would listen that he would stop this caring business and tell her what he wanted already.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, helping her to stand, and walking her to the entrance of the bathroom. She looked around for a chance or escape. She saw a girl to her side, walking, staring at her with terrified eyes. She couldn't recognize her, though. She had light hair, white blonde, and wavy. She was quite pretty, Hermione thought. Was she with them?

She thought to ask, opening her mouth. The girl did, too, however, and hoping she would introduce herself, Hermione shut her own.

The girl shut her mouth as well.

It was then she realized the boy walking beside the girl, tall, and pale, with dark hair. And then she realized that it wasn't a girl at all. It was her reflection.

She tore out of Voldemort's grasp, rushing to the mirror, holding herself up on the bathroom sink when her knees buckled. She choked a scream, and saw in the reflection that the Dark Lord and come behind her.

"What are you doing, darling, we need to get you to the infirmary."

She ignored his use of darling for her own sanity, and violently shook her head.

"Where am I?" She choked, turning around and backing away from him as much as she could, pressed against the bathroom sink. His brow furrowed, and she thought he looked nothing if not annoyed. He did not seem concerned, though when he spoke, his voice was laced with something sweet and worried that made her feel ill.

"You're in the girls bathroom, I'm just about to escort you to the infirmary."

"Hello?" A voice interrupted. Hermione's eyes, or the eyes of whoever this girl was, snapped to the entrance of the bathroom. Tom whirled around, standing still in front of her. Hermione's breath rushed out of her then, like she had been punched in the stomach, and she gripped the rim of the sink so hard she thought she might break it.

"Professor Dumbledore..." She breathed, and Voldemort cast her a confused glance. Or, was it Voldemort? He was just as she had seen in pictures, the few they had. But Dumbledore only glanced at him and looked to Hermione, as if he posed no threat. Her throat closed up and she felt tears spring to her eyes. What was going on? Why was Dumbledore here? And why did he not care that Voldemort was as well?

"Is everything alright? It's almost curfew."

"I was just about to take Miss Travers to the infirmary, I walked in and she was—"

It was at that moment everything became too much for her, and Hermione fainted.

* * *

The second time Hermione awoke in a strange place was not nearly as traumatic as the first. She found herself in a bed in the infirmary. It look different to what she remembered, especially considering the war. And how could it be so quiet and calm? It unnerved her, and she wondered what had happened before she awoke in that bathroom before Lord Voldemort. And it unnerved her even more when she realized that no matter how hard she tried, she could not remember why she had been unconscious on the bathroom floor.

She looked down at her hands and suddenly realized why she could not remember. _I am not myself, _she thought, staring at her manicured nails. _So, who am I?_

"Oh, dear, you're awake! Heavens sake, you did give us such a fright. What on earth happened to you?" A slim elderly woman approached her bedside, helping Hermione to sit up.

"Where am I?" She asked.

"The infirmary, of course. Drink this." She handed her what Hermione was relieved to discover was a just glass of water. She gulped it down, before setting the half empty glass on the table.

"But, where is everyone?" Why was there no war? That is what she wanted to ask, but she feared the mystery woman's response.

"In class, I imagine, it is a school day, dear."

Hermione's blood ran cold. She suddenly reached out and gripped the woman's arm. How could there be classes in the middle of a war? The woman jumped, and eyed Hermione frightfully, as if she was afraid she might explode. Hermione thought she just might.

"Where am I?" She demanded slowly, and the woman gently laid a hand over Hermione's to pry it off her arm.

"The Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, dear. What happened to put you so on edge?"

She didn't respond, taking a moment to think. Hogwarts was in the middle of a war before she woke up in this body on the bathroom floor. If she was body swapped—somehow—that wouldn't change the fact that they were fighting Lord Voldemort, who just so happened to appear ever so comfortingly at her side as she awoke looking as if he had never turned himself into a snake-like monster. And Dumbledore...

But he was dead.

As realization slowly settled over Hermione, she almost hit herself for not realizing it sooner. She found it hard to breathe then, gasping for air as the matron's hands settled over her shoulders, saying things Hermione couldn't bother to comprehend.

"The date?" Hermione wheezed, "What is the date?"

She felt the hands on her shoulders go still, and the woman said, "September 24th, dear."

"The year," Hermione gasped, and the matron gripped her face to look her in the eye.

"1944, dear, can you tell me your name?" She searched Hermione's eyes, and Hermione was terrified that she had no idea who she was now.

"Travers..." She spoke slowly, regaining control on her breath and giving way to numbness. 1944.

"Yes and your first name?" She prompted, but before Hermione had the chance to admit that she had no idea, the doors burst open and two girls rushed in.

The first to her bedside was tall and thin, with light brown hair that fell in beautiful curls over her shoulders. She gripped Hermione's hand in fright, her wide brown eyes brimming with tears.

"Eldora!" She nearly sobbed, and it took Hermione a moment to realize that she was addressing her. She tried to fake a smile in response but found herself incapable.

"Francesca, for goodness sake, she isn't dead! Are you alright, Eldora?" Hermione turned her eyes to the other occupant, a smaller girl, slightly plump with dark hair. "Tom told us all about what happened. Avery would be here of course, but he had classes. I had a free period and Francesca skipped the end of her Herbology class."

Hermione remained silent.

"It's a useless class anyway. Oh, Eldora, we were so worried, are you feeling all right? Do you need anything?"

"Girls!" The matron interrupted, and Hermione troubled herself trying to remember her name until she realized she had never learned it. "Miss Travers is not fit to receive guests, she can't even remember—"

But Hermione knew she couldn't stay there a moment longer. She needed to see Professor Dumbledore, and she couldn't wait here waiting to be caught out. She needed to speak to him.

"Please, Madam," She opted out of using her name, for obvious reasons, "I apologize for the scare. Surely you know how out of sorts one can be when they've just awoken. I had the most terrible dream, you see, before...Mr. Riddle found me" She tried very hard to hide the distaste in the dark Lord's name, "and I suppose I hadn't truly awoken. I'm well now that I've rested, please let me be with my friends? I promise you I require no further treatment."

There was a stunned silence, in which no one spoke. The Matron finally cleared her throat, shooing Hermione and her friends away with her hands, but said nothing. Hermione stood then, Francesca to her right and the other girl she had yet to learn the name of to her left, and they left together, flogging behind Hermione like she was their master.

"Eldora!" The shorter one exclaimed once the doors to the hospital wing had shut behind them. "What on earth was that?"

"What was what?" Hermione replied, wondering what she had said could cause them both to stare at her so in awe.

The taller one laughed, sounding to Hermione quite like bells, "I suppose nights with Tom have influenced you well?"

Hermione almost choked.

The shorter one laughed as well, grabbing Hermione's hand and leading her down the hall, "We should go see him, to let him know you're well. He's worried sick about you, as is Avery—"

"No!" Hermione said, quite a bit louder than she intended. She realized too late she had snatched her hand out of the girl's, and she quickly apologized.

"I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore, it's quite urgent. I'm very sorry, I'll see you both later?"

They went quiet again, before the tall one spoke, "Why are you speaking like that Eldora?" She spoke slowly, her nose scrunching like she smelled something fowl. Hermione contemplated the situation, taking into account the easy way both girls spoke to her.

"It's nothing." She said, trying to acclimate to their tone of voice, "I just need to see him, that's all." They were silent a moment longer, "I'll see you later, we'll...chat?"

They stood there for a moment before the taller one turned, guiding the other girl away, "Come, Druella, Eldora has just had a traumatic experience and will feel better later."

Hermione watched them disappear down the hall, She noticed more students were wandering the hall now, and she could only assume classes were being let out. Dumbledore would be teaching in this time, most likely where Mcgonagall's room was in Hermione's time. She turned on her heel and rushed through the halls. It was loud, and the students looks so very different from her town. The hair styles and the way they seemed to speak to each other made her feel very out of this time.

But of course, she was, so how could she complain?

She found what she assumed was the transfiguration classroom and opened the door slowly. Students were finding their seats and Dumbledore, his beard shorter and his hair ginger, stood at the front, organizing his desk. She strode purposefully to the front of the class, and he caught her eye before she even had the chance to speak.

"Miss Travers," He spoke jovially, "How are you feeling?"

"I need to speak to you, Professor. It's of the utmost importance." There was that look of shock again that people seemed to give her whenever she spoke, and Hermione was becoming increasingly annoyed with it. "I understand you are about to teach your transfiguration class, but this takes priority." And after a pause, she added a desperate "Please."

He watched her thoughtfully, his eyes twinkling as they always used to do, then he nodded. "Wait in my office, I'll give my students something to work on while we talk. I'll be right with you." Then he smiled, and she found herself smiling weakly back.

His office was not unlike the office he had as Headmaster, crowded with knick knacks and a bowl of lemon drops on his desk. The only difference, really, was size and location. She sat down carefully on a small sofa he had in the very back of his office and waited.

She remained silent when he walked in, shutting the door behind him.

"Is everything all right, Miss Travers?" She hesitated, reaching for her wand before she realized she still didn't have it.

"Could you..." She gestured vaguely with her hands. He waited patiently for her to clarify. "I apologize, professor, but could you please cast a silencing charm? I don't want anyone to hear..."

He hesitated, but nodded nonetheless, waving his wand and casting a quiet _muffiato, _before gesturing for her to speak. He didn't move to sit down, and it was then she realized he was suspicious of her.

"Professor, I only come to you because I don't know who else would understand." She paused, and watched as he nodded for her to continue. Clearing her throat, she spoke again. "I am not Eldora Travers."

He eyed her for a moment, before clearing his throat as well and making his way to the chair behind his desk, "I did believe you were acting rather strangely."

"My name is Hermione Granger." She said, "I don't know what has happened to me, I awoke in that girl's bathroom with—" She almost said his name, the name he used in her time, but caught herself just before the word tumbled over her lips, "Riddle sitting over me. I'm not from here, sir, I'm not from this time."

He nodded.

She couldn't help but let her confusion show, opening and closing her mouth before finally speaking again, "You believe me?"

He was silent.

"Do you actually believe me? I thought..." She faltered, watching him turn his eye to his desk, sitting dreadfully still at his desk. "I thought you wouldn't." She finished rather pitifully.

He was silent for a moment more, but spoke just before she did, "I take it you know me in the future?" He asked, still staring down at his desk.

She nodded quietly.

"Did I confide in you?"

"More in my friend than me, but yes." The thought of Harry brought a fresh wave of emotion to well up in Hermione's throat and she just barely managed to choke it down. If the sudden tensing at the corners of his eyes was any indication, he noticed.

He turned his eyes on her then, "Tell me something only you and I would know."

She paused them, thinking back to everything he had told her in her time in Hogwarts. She couldn't reveal his future, that would be foolish. If she revealed his past, it is quite possible he could suspect her of working with Grindelwald. No, something recent. Something that he hadn't told anyone yet.

"That girl, Myrtle, she died already, right?" He nodded solemnly, "Supposedly by a spider under the possession of a Gryffindor named Hagrid."

"That is public information, Miss Granger, many people know that." She smiled weakly when he used her own name, and continued.

"Yes, but you're own suspicions are private, yes?" He made no move. "You don't believe it was Hagrid. You believe a boy, Tom Riddle, the one who found me, you think he did something."

There was a long, tense silence before he spoke. "Do you think my suspicions have truth to them?"

Hermione frowned, holding his eyes. They had lost their sparkle for the moment, and she could only imagine what he was thinking. If only he knew, she thought, what this boy would become. Would he kill him?

Would she kill him?

"I don't believe I'm at liberty to say, Professor."

It was quiet, silent save for their breathing. Then he shifted in his seat, giving her a smile.

"Quite the predicament you've landed yourself in, Miss Granger."

It wasn't clear to Hermione if he believed her or not, but at that moment, any relative sign that he might trust her was enough. She took a deep breath, standing from the sofa and approaching his desk.

"What do I do? I don't know what is happening, I don't know who this girl is," She frantically gestured to herself, beginning to pace in the small office, "I don't know if she's dead or alive. I haven't the faintest idea who the two girls are who visited me in the hospital wing and everyone keeps staring at me like I'm a firework each time I speak to them!" It wasn't until she felt the steady weight of his hands on her shoulders that she realized he had moved, and she sucked in a breath, holding it in as she met his eyes. He eyed her for a moment, a long one, and very quietly spoke.

"I want to believe you, Miss Travers," At her crestfallen expression, he corrected himself, "Miss Granger."

He turned away from her then, walking towards the door to his classroom. For a terrifying moment, Hermione was sure he was going to ask her to leave, and she lifted a shaking hand to cover her mouth as it twisted into a grimace. Her throat ached and her eyes welled up with tears.

"Something most serious has come up." He spoke from his doorway, "I'm afraid I will have to cancel class today. Remember you have a two foot essay due next class. I'll see you tomorrow."

He turned back towards her just in time to catch her wide-eyed look before she smothered it, and she was sure she caught a very brief smile.

"We have much to discuss."

He returned to his desk and Hermione remained standing in the center of his office. He watched here carefully for a few long moments before speaking.

"Miss Granger, may I call you Miss Granger as we are in private?"

"Please" She responded most reverently.

"Miss Granger," He continued, "How do you suppose you got into this predicament?" She heard his tone, the dry sort of discontent that told her he did not completely believe she was telling the truth.

"Do you still not believe me, Professor?" She asked, "What reason would I have to lie? I told you something only you and I would know. What else must I do?"

"You must realize, Miss Granger, that Miss Travers is very close to Mr. Riddle." Hermione paused thoughtfully for a moment, very briefly forgetting who Miss Travers was until she recalled it was the body she now inhabited.

"Is she?" She asked quietly, her eyes staring unfocused and unblinkingly at the floorboards.

"You are." He corrected. There was a very long silence, before he said, "Please, take a seat."

She did. And after another long moment of silence, Hermione spoke once more.

"Tom Riddle is everything you suspect him to be." She spoke resolutely.

"Miss Granger, Please—"

"No." She argued calmly, forcefully. "You won't believe me, so I will make you." she ran her hand through her hair, slightly off put by the sleek of it. She found, funny enough, she missed her bushy hair more than anything at the moment. She stood then, pacing resolutely to his desk and leaning over to make eye contact. "You can read my mind and decide my memories have been planted. You can torture the information out of me and chalk up my lies to loyalty to Riddle. In every way I may try to get you to believe me, you could just as easily throw it away and say that I'm a liar. There is nothing I can do to give you proof." She knelt down then, until her chin was level with the surface of his desk.

"But I'm begging you to trust me, simply on the grounds that I have come to you to ask for help and you don't wish to deny someone help who needs it."

She held his gaze until he spoke again. "I must say, your intelligence is most probably proof enough."

Her brow furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"Miss Travers is not the brightest witch of her age." He said quietly. Hermione frowned, folding her arms on the desk and resting her chin on them.

"Well I was."

"It shows."

She sighed tiredly, rubbing her eyes forcefully with her fists. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to get back, I don't even remember how I ended up here." She stood suddenly and began pacing the room. "I don't know who this Miss Travers is, what she does, I don't know anyone, and I don't know how to get back." She turned to him. "Could I possibly leave Hogwarts until I learn what to do?"

"I'm afraid not." Dumbledore replied. "Miss Eldora Travers has family she will need to return to, she has friends who will ask questions. We don't know if she is alive with you or not, do we?" Hermione shook her head. "Then we must try to keep her life as normal as we can until we know. We don't want to ruin her life simply because you happened to crash through."

Hermione was quiet.

"Sit down," He offered gently, "I will tell you everything I know about Eldora Travers."

She did as she was asked, and Dumbledore began.

* * *

**Hello Everyone! First of all I want to thank you so much for reading, and then I would like to ask you very graciously to please, please, please leave me a review telling me what you thought! I appreciate any feedback I can get.**

**Also, the title (Excitant) is latin for "reawaken." I felt it was fairly appropriate considering the circumstances of the story.**

**Summary is subject to change, I only have this as a stand in until I can think of something better to use.**

**This story is rated M! And it is a serious M! There isn't going to be anything seriously freaky and I probably won't write out sex scenes, but there are dark themes and there will be implied sexual relations. Just a warning, I figure most of you are fine with that, but I do like to add a bit of a disclaimer.**

**Again thank you so much for reading, and please give me some feedback!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

Eldora Travers wasn't quite the brightest girl you'd ever meet, but she was charming in her own right. She was a beautiful girl, if not a bit small for her age and a bit round in the face, but her blood status and social standing made up for any shortcomings in beauty.

Eldora Travers was the only daughter of Michel Travers and the late Helena Travers, and a descendent of one of the purest bloodlines in the wizarding world. She was quite proud of this fact, and was quite adamant about reminding the world of her blood purity at any given moment.

It was no secret that Michel Travers was odd, and dark. When Helena Travers died by what some might consider questionable means, Michel locked himself away in his house. In fact, the only time anyone had seen Michel since his wife died was to see his daughter off at the Hogwarts train her first year.

"He keeps himself very busy in his study," Eldora would say, "He's an intellectual, he makes all sorts of discoveries, and it takes quite a lot of his time."

But when asked what he would research, Eldora would fall uncharacteristically silent. As she got older, she learned to skillfully avoid the subject. But though she chose not to speak of it, people often knew.

The Travers family had been known to dabble in the dark arts centuries back. And the strange unnatural phenomenons that would sometimes occur in or around the Travers manor was very telling of some sort of dark arts. Though some would wonder why, if it was no secret, Eldora loathed to speak of it so much.

Still, Eldora was nothing if not a socialite. She considers herself extremely popular among her housemates, though possibly not the other houses. She didn't particularly mind, though.

"The day I worry about what a group of bottom-dwellers like Gryffindors think of me is the day I will ask you to end my life." She would say.

Eldora's fifth year it was decided she would marry Mr. Avery. Avery, as far as his housemates and even certain neighboring houses were concerned, was a gentleman in every sense of the word. He treated Miss Travers with respect and reverence, and she in return treated him with gentleness and friendliness.

To Eldora's friends Francesca Selwyn and Druella Rosier, they were the prefect couple.

To Eldora herself, it was awfully boring.

Perhaps that's the reason, her sixth year, she became romantically involved with Tom Riddle.

It was all quite a shock when, one night at dinner, Riddle so publicly led her to her seat and kissed her on the lips in front of the great hall. It was even more of a surprise when Avery did nothing to fight for her, and instead let Tom sit beside him and spoke with him calmly and normally as if it had never happened. Since that day, Eldora and Tom had gallivanted around the castle together, spending much of their time together, more affectionate than Avery and Eldora ever were. It was only for a month before the summer, but when everyone came back seventh year, it seemed they were still together, if their very amorous reunion at the platform was a good enough clue.

It was all quite a surprise, really, that Eldora would be with Tom. After all, Tom was the top of their class, and Eldora was far from that. She didn't seem to care much for studying, or reading at all for that matter. She hated classes, she hated reading, she hated studying, and she especially hated testing. So it was rather odd that she would be with the smartest boy in the class.

Some said he was only with her because she made him feel even smarter. Some said opposites attract. And all knew the relationship was a means to an end, for she would wed Avery at the end of their seventh year anyway.

"I don't understand," Hermione interrupted Dumbledore's explanation, "Tom Riddle is incapable of love, he is only capable of hatred, how is it he is romantically involved with someone?"

"Certainly you know it is possible to be with someone without love." Was his response.

"You think he's using her? What for, you've just told me she was an imbecile."

His lips twitched in what she hoped was an almost smile, "Her father, I did tell you he dabbles quite frequently in the dark arts?" Hermione nodded mutely, "I believe he was using her to get to her father's knowledge."

"And most likely still is." Hermione added quietly.

"Under the ruse of a romantic relationship."

Hermione was very quiet.

"Sir." She started, then paused for a time. "You said I should act as Eldora. Do you mean for me to remain romantically involved with Tom Riddle?"

He met her eyes and something of a comforting smile graced his features, "It is best for you to remain as inconspicuous as possible, both for your sake and Miss Travers."

That was his only answer.

Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably, "So I should continue acting like a dunce? I should sleep with the man who—" She stopped herself before she said something she shouldn't. "Professor," She continued, "I'm not sure I know how to do that. I'm not sure I can."

"Then I only ask for you to do your best." He replied. "In the mean time, we will try to find a way to get you back. I assume that is what you wanted?"

She nodded vigorously.

"Do you remember anything at all that may have occurred to send you here?"

Hermione wracked her brain, but she could not remember anything at all. She shook her head, training her eyes on the floorboards.

"Then for now all we can do is wait for you to remember. It's possible it was quite traumatic and you have blocked it from your memory." He leaned over just slightly in his seat, reattaining her attention, "Miss Granger, you must not worry. I do not believe that while you are in Miss Travers' body you will change much of the future. And I am most optimistic that we will be able to return you somehow to your time."

Hermione managed a weak smile and nodded in return.

"Very well." He said, "I think you should get some rest. Do you know the way to the Slytherin common room?"

"Yes." Hermione responded, but she had no intention of returning to the common room just yet. She stood, smoothed out her robes, and walked quickly to the door. She paused very briefly, and offered a quiet, "Thank you, Professor." As a farewell. Then she opened the door and hurried most ungracefully out of the classroom.

She found, as she walked, that Hogwarts looked just the same as it had in her time, and that comforted her. She ran her hand along the stone wall and imagined for a moment that these empty halls would soon be filled with the students she knew from fifty years in the future.

Of course, that fantasy was quickly suffocated when she remembered that even if she were to return to her time many students would never be walking the halls again. Many lives were lost in the war.

She stopped then. Yes, she thought, the war was over now. She remembered Tom Riddle's body, Harry's victory. Though she didn't remember afterward, she knew it was a start, and that gave her hope. If she could just remember what had happened, then she could return home. If she could just remember...

"Travers?" It took her a moment to respond, so unused to hearing it, but she did manage to respond before it was too late. A girl stood there, Ravenclaw by her robes. She was a rather plain girl, and in her arms she had a pile of books. Hermione was certain she hadn't seen her before, and she felt a brief clench of panic at her heart. What was this girls name?

"Hello." She responded, and then fell silent.

"I heard you were in the hospital wing, are you alright?" She took a step closer, "I heard you were forgetting everything. Francesca wouldn't shut up about it, said you were acting so odd."

"Yes, well..." Hermione just wished she knew this girl's name, "I'm alright now."

"Gave Riddle quite a fright, well, as much as he can be frightened. Avery was a bit of a mess though." Hermione nodded, offering no other response. "Do you remember me then?"

Silence. Panicked silence.

But the girl only smiled, "Sophia Rowle. It's alright."

And then she left without another word. And Hermione, baffled by the girl's calm and unquestioning nature, continued silently along to the Library.

It was Hermione's original intent to try to research her predicament, but time travel was such a broad subject, and she wasn't sure she had ever heard of body switching and time travel all at once. Until she remembered what had happened, research would prove fruitless.

So instead, she tried to find books about regaining lost memories, whether by magic or otherwise, and she also found a book on some sort of meditation that was supposed to help with memory. There was a chance it could be rubbish, but it was worth a try. She would have loved to stay in the library, surrounded by all those books simply for the comfort, but that wasn't something Eldora Travers would do. So instead she piled the books in her arms and started out of the library. As a last minute thought, however, she shrank the books and piled them in the pockets of her robes. She could carry more this way, anyway.

She hurried back to the common room then, hoping not to run into anyone else she should know. She got lost once when she began walking on autopilot and almost went to the Gryffindor tower, but she found her way back. The halls were mostly empty, with only a few students here and there, and when she caught glance at a clock, she saw it was time for dinner, so most students would be in the great hall.

It was one less thing to worry about for the time being.

But what seemed to be a blessing quickly became a curse, because when she came upon the entrance to the Slytherin common room, she didn't know the password. Dumbledore had forgotten to give it to her.

She exhaled sharply, knowing she would have to go back and ask him for the password, possibly even ask another professor, and imagine explaining that. However, thought Hermione, Eldora was not very bright, so perhaps it would not be surprising.

She dreaded having to see all those students, regardless.

She felt a hand settle on the small of her back and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Another hand, familiar hands, clutched her shoulder firmly to keep her from jerking away. "Darling, what's gotten into you?" It must be his signature pet name, Hermione thought, for he had called her nothing but that. Tom Riddle stood, towering over her, looking every bit the perfect boyfriend doting on his beloved. The thought made her sick, so she forcefully shoved it to the back of her mind.

"Tom," She hoped Eldora didn't have some dreadful pet name for him as well, "I'm sorry." She could think of nothing else to say.

"Are you feeling better? I meant to stop by the infirmary, but when I did you were already gone."

"Yes," She spoke quickly, "And I was told I should rest so I really must get to my room."

She made a move to turn away, but his hand settled on the small of her back and didn't allow her space to retreat. She felt very much like a mouse in his embrace.

"I heard you went to Professor Dumbledore, why is that?" Hermione got the distinctive feeling she was being interrogated then, and it took every ounce of her own self control to continue pretending she didn't notice.

"Well," She replied jovially, "I know he came just before I fainted, I wanted to let him know I was alright."

"How considerate of you," He said.

"Yes." She replied.

"And then you went to the library?" He continued, sounding for all intensive purposes only slightly curious, but the say he watched her from lidded eyes made her feel scrutinized and distrusted. "I don't recall you ever reading a book in your life."

Hermione struggled for a response, but found no excuse. So instead she replied, "Yes, and it was as dreadfully boring as I feared it would be." She cringed while speaking, "I am so very tired, Tom, I really must be getting to bed so I can get to classes tomorrow."

"So studious," He said quietly, leaning very, very close to her. "Perhaps whatever happened in the bathroom changed you?"

He was so close Hermione could actually have counted each of his eyelashes and each hair along his hairline if she had wanted. She felt incredibly intimidated, but she imagined that was his intent, shrouded in the pretense of being an amorous lover.

She felt physically ill. She couldn't breathe.

"Perhaps." She replied, wrenching herself so suddenly from his grip that his fingernails actually scraped quite painfully across her back, "Goodnight."

But she had nowhere to go, for she didn't have the password.

"Are you sure you're alright, darling?" He stayed where he was, standing very still and watching her closely.

She smiled then, hoping to save face for her stunt of pulling away. She was certain Eldora Travers would have never pulled away, and she knew she should go closer, possibly even kiss him, but she was too afraid she would purposefully harm him if she did. So she stayed back.

She chose not to think, in that moment, about the pain he would cause in the future. She chose not to think about the people he would kill, the people she was close to that he would kill. Instead she tried, quite fruitlessly, to view him through the eyes of the students of 1942. To them, he was nothing but an intelligent, beautiful student, who was very in love with the very person Hermione now possessed.

"Darling?"

"I'm sorry," Hermione spoke then, knowing it would be most unnatural for her to remain silent for much longer, "I don't mean to be so cold," There was a brief hesitation she hoped he didn't catch, "darling, but I am in no state to be with you, I will be so awful to you, I'm just so tired, you see."

A smile crossed his features then, looking to Hermione unsettlingly genuine, "Of course. Sleep well. We will meet for breakfast?"

She nodded, not trusting words.

"Very well." He said, and just before he turned to walk away, he said, "Fluxweed," and the portrait opened. Hermione waited until he was no longer in sight, some part of her afraid that if she turned her back on him he would attack, and then she scurried through the now open portrait and found the girls dormitories. It took her seven tries to find her own room, which she discovered due to the quite romantic picture of her and Tom on the bedside. Hermione promptly turned that photo down on the table.

She scurried onto the bed and pulled the drapes closed, then pulled out the handful of books in her pocket and dropped them onto the covers and restored them to their normal size. But she didn't read any yet.

She put her head between her knees and sat very still for a very, very long time. Long enough to hear her roommates come in the room and go out twice, then come back in and get ready for bed. She was thankful that they did not interrupt her, for she did not believe she would be able to pretend to be Eldora at the moment.

Her interaction with Tom Riddle played over and over and over and over in her mind. She felt like a fool. But the last thing she expected was to run into him at all, let alone be interrogated.

Goodness, how she missed home. She wondered if her body was still there. Was it cold and lifeless? Did her friends think her dead?

Was she dead?

She missed her parents, who didn't even know she was gone. She missed Harry and Ron, especially Ron. She missed the thought of their life together now that the war had ended. They might have had a family...But she was here trapped in the body of a girl she hated, a girl who was already trapped in the arms of the man who caused more pain and misery in her life than anyone in this school could ever experience in their most terrible nightmares.

A man she almost had to kiss outside the common room.

The green and silver that surrounded her also suffocated her; she saw the colors even with her eyes clenched shut, swirling around behind her eyelids. A symbol of the torment she now would be forced to endure. Just when she though it was over, she's thrown back to the start, and she can't even remember how it happened. She can't even research how to get back, because she doesn't know how she got there in the first place.

She found her wand and cast a _muffiato_ around her bed so she should could cry. It was better to cry now than in front of anyone, when someone could ask her what was wrong. She would have no answer. And Tom Riddle would see the tears for exactly what they were, and his suspicion of her would never end.

So she cried there on that bed that wasn't hers. She cried for her friends that could be mourning her in the future, she cried for the future that was robbed from her, but she cried most especially herself, for what was sure to come.

And when the tears had dried, when her throat was sore from screaming and her chest sore from the sobs, when the sheer intensity with which she lamented left her breathless and exhausted, she began to read. Because while Hermione did not know if she had died in the future, or if anyone knew she was gone but still alive, she did know one thing; that the solution to ones problem can always be found in a book.

The sound of her screaming from just moments before rang in her ears until the light of the very early morning lite up her drapes a brilliant emerald. And then, overcome by exhaustion, she slept.

* * *

**A/N Normally I won't update this close together, but for these first two chapters, I just wanted to get it all out. These first two are basically the opening, and the journey really starts in the next few chapters. I know this one is kind of short, but I needed to end it with the end of the day.**

**Thank you so much for the feedback so far, I love hearing from you guys, and getting all those reviews really inspires me to write more, so please keep them coming! Thank you to everyone who has followed and/or favorited my story, I'm glad it interests you so far! **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you did, let me know, if you didn't, let me know why :) Thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione watched herself in the mirror. She memorized the curve of her face, the shape of her eyes, her bushy curls. She didn't want to tear her eyes away, but she had no idea why. She had never cared for appearance, at least not as much as some of her friends did. Lavender Brown, for example, cared very deeply for her looks. But that was natural for young girls.

When Hermione awoke, she knew there would be no mirrors that would show her face any longer. She mourned the loss of her dreamworld, for she was herself in her dreams.

She hardly knew who she was here.

She turned her blankets down and pulled open the curtain around her bed. She could see Francesca Selwyn, the girl who had visited her in the infirmary. Druella Rosier was there as well, and other girls Hermione did not know. Druella turned to see her and stopped suddenly. Hermione began to wonder if she had done something wrong, but could not think of what.

"You're still in bed?" She asked incredulously. "You and Tom are always early to breakfast. What on earth are you—does he know?"

Hermione was still rather confused.

"Oh for God's sake," A girl Hermione did not know scoffed, "Are we still going to carry on the drama of yesterday, Eldora?"

"Be quiet, Lyra," Francesca snapped, and walked over to Hermione. She took her hands and began to lead her to the bathroom, "Druella, you go on ahead and tell Tom that Eldora had a lie in today, I'll help her get ready."

Druella nodded and left the room. The other girls did, too, as Francesca sat Hermione down in front of the mirror.

"What on earth has gotten into you," She muttered, "I'll do you're makeup today, alright?"

Hermione just nodded. She was rubbish at makeup anyway.

Francesca worked slowly, which surprised Hermione because she thought she would want to rush her to breakfast. But she took her time and worked in silence. Hermione simply tried to keep her mind from turning towards upsetting thoughts. She had cried enough already.

"You're eyes are very puffy." Francesca finally spoke, applying mascara, "Have you been crying?"

"What on earth would I be crying for?" Hermione responded.

After makeup, Francesca swept Hermione's hair back with a headscarf and squeezed her shoulder when she was done. Hermione stood to go get her clothes, but Francesca stopped her before she could leave the bathroom.

"Is this about Tom? Did you two have a fight?"

Hermione met her eyes. Admittedly, she was surprised at the care Francesca had shown. Hermione wasn't used to finding comfort in Slytherins, however, and she wouldn't start now. So she shook her head and continued into the bedroom without a word and got dressed.

"I apologize," Hermione spoke just before Francesca left the room, "I don't mean to cause drama. I'll be alright."

Francesca nodded, but her eyes were narrowed. She didn't wait for Hermione to join her before she left, so Hermione exited the room by herself soon after. It was too late for breakfast.

And she didn't have a clue what her first class was.

Of course that didn't matter much, because Druella Rosier and Tom Riddle were walking into the common room as soon as she had descended the stairs.

"Eldora, Tom wanted to make sure you were alright." Druella greeted, and very quickly left the room. Hermione wondered if that was what people normally did, fled the room when Tom was concerned. That would be the smart thing to do, of course, but she wasn't sure anyone really knew that.

"I heard you slept in?" Tom spoke, approaching her quickly. Her muscles coiled even against her will, but she managed to smile easily at him.

_Pretend he's Ron,_ she thought, but that only made her sad and angry.

"Yes, I suppose I was even more tired than I thought." She replied, looping her arm through his. "Perhaps you could walk me to class? Since I missed breakfast."

He smiled. "Of course." Hermione imagined he might've kissed her then if she was not already pulling out of the common room. Touching him was enough to make Hermione's heart thump violently and she could feel adrenaline coursing through her veins. She feared she might feel faint if he kissed her, or perhaps even feel violent.

He righted the situation very quickly, of course, and soon he was leading her instead. "Do you feel better, then?" He asked, sounding every bit the part of the caring lover.

"Of course," Hermione replied, "Much better."

She didn't mention that she felt "much better" because now she had possession of a wand again.

"I'm so happy to hear it," His smile had begun to make Hermione feel ill.

* * *

Class was torture, to say the least. Just before Hermione had entered, she had forced herself to kiss Tom on the cheek, if only because she knew he was about to kiss her on the lips, and she would just feel much better about the situation if she was in charge of the contact. After, she had rushed into the classroom to find her seat.

The class was dreadfully simple, but Hermione would not dare to answer a question. That wasn't something Eldora Travers would do. So she was forced to sit silently and listen to the teacher drone on about trivial matters and listen to the students struggled to reach simple conclusions. She felt sick with restless energy, and she wondered—with an increasing feeling of despair—if she was going to feel sick with everything for the foreseeable future. Sick from Tom Riddle, sick from useless classes, sick from acting like a blood-prejudiced buffoon.

She needed to get home.

Reading all those books had gotten her nowhere, and now that she finally had reprieve from Riddle or her "friends" of this era—for neither Francesca nor Druella were in this class with her, and Riddle was taking advanced classes (classes Hermione should be taking)—she finally had time to _think_. She always had time to think before. She could disappear to the library and be alone.

God forbid she had to explain being in the library now.

She needed to get_ home_.

She had tried meditative techniques to get her memory going, but so far nothing. She wanted to try some potions that were designed to attempt to help with memories that were tampered with magic, but how would she brew a potion in her spare time?

She had thought for a moment, perhaps she could pretend to have some sort of amnesia. People were already speaking of how Eldora could not remember the date or her name. But trying to come up with a reason for losing her memory in that girl's bathroom would only bring up more questions, and possibly more suspicion from Riddle. But it was the only plausible solution for brewing that potion.

She would need to come up with another solution.

After class their only assignment was a foot long essay on the Salem Witch Trials for review purposes. It was dreadfully easy and Hermione dreaded having to make it seem difficult. As she packed up her things and started towards the door, she saw a young man waiting just outside the classroom. She didn't recognize him, of course, but the way he smiled at her told Hermione she must know him. So she smiled back.

"There are rumors you can't remember anyone. Surely you at least remember your dear fiance?"

So this was Avery, Hermione thought. She forced a laugh, and though it sounded anything but natural, he didn't seem to react negatively to it. "Of course," She replied, and looped her arm through his in the same way she had with Tom Riddle.

What a peculiar life Eldora Travers leads, Hermione thought. As far as the social eye was concerned, she had one man on each arm.

"Are you feeling better then? Tom said he spoke to you this morning and you seemed in much better spirits." Hermione nodded.

"Yes. I feel much better." Avery nodded and smiled once more, and the rest of their walk was in silence. Hermione wondered if this happened every day for Eldora; One man would walk her to her first class, then the second would walk her to another class. Did Eldora ever wonder why Avery didn't seem to mind hers and Tom's romantic affair? Hermione could not believe Eldora was naive enough to think either man really cared for her.

Or perhaps she could believe it.

Avery stopped off at her second class, which Hermione could see was potions, and kissed her hand as a farewell. Hermione watched him go, feeling strange about the encounter though she did not know why.

Potions was not nearly as torturous as her last class, which Hermione hesitated to call History of Magic because it seemed too simple and horrendous to be that class. It wasn't as advanced as she may have preferred, but it was still seventh year criteria, so it at least kept her mind occupied. Slughorn liked her, probably because she was close to Tom Riddle. In fact, Hermione was definitely sure that was the reason, for he asked about Tom three times throughout the class.

She entertained the thought that if Slughorn liked her perhaps she could find a way to brew a potion without making a fuss, but she quickly dismissed that idea. Slughorn would tell Tom Riddle.

The class was uneventful. They learned about a potion Hermione already knew, but they didn't start brewing yet. And they wouldn't until the following week. Hermione dreaded having to purposely fudge the potion's instructions, but it was necessary. She needed to blend in, as Dumbledore had said. Until she found a way to regain her memories and get home.

Perhaps she should return to the bathroom she awoke in? There could be something in there that could give her a clue as to what had happened. Perhaps a time turner? It was the only explanation Hermione could come up with that would send her back to the 1940s. But she didn't even know which bathroom she had woken up in, and there were so many bathrooms...

But perhaps the answer was more obvious than she thought.

After all, how did Tom find her? Surely he does not make a habit of checking the girl's bathrooms every night, that would be up to the Head Girl or other female prefects. Unless it was a certain bathroom with a certain entrance to a certain Chamber of Secrets.

She would have to check that bathroom first. But how could she when she was accompanied everywhere? The idea had seemed at least somewhat endearing at first, to have you're loved one escort you to all your classes, but now it felt like a prison sentence.

At the end of class, Avery was there. He smiled at her and she took his arm. They walked toward the Great Hall then, and Hermione dreaded having to sit with all of them and pretend to enjoy their company. Her heart beat unsteadily in her chest, and she wondered morbidly if it could even take the stress of sitting beside the Dark Lord and posing as his lover. She shivered.

"Are you cold?" Avery asked.

"Just a little," Hermione replied. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Hermione was just thankful that Avery was walking her right now and not Tom Riddle.

Although, considering Avery was a Death Eater, it was not that comforting.

They arrived at the Great Hall and Hermione's eyes were immediately drawn to the Gryffindor table, alight with reds and golds and smiling faces. She longed to desperately to go to that table, she even felt emotion well up in her throat at the prospect that she couldn't. Avery led her away form the table towards the Slytherins. They passed the Ravenclaw and Hermione saw Sophia Rowle wave quietly at her. She didn't wave back.

Avery walked her to the empty space beside Tom Riddle and sat her down, before rounding the long table to sit across from the pair. Druella and Francesca were further down the table. She didn't recognize anyone else.

Tom wrapped an arm around her waist as he ate, smiling down at her as a greeting. She smiled back and silently packed her plate.

"I reckon she's feeling much better now, Tom," Avery spoke. Tom eyed him for a moment before humming in reply.

"Yes, I do wish we knew what happened."

Hermione hated that they spoke about her as if she wasn't even present, even though his arm around her waist proved he knew she was there. But she hated even more that she couldn't even speak out. She felt trapped—suffocated, even—and worst of all she had to smile through her racing heart and quaking bones as if she thought he was the sun and the stars.

Gently, gentler than she would have ever imagined him capable, he ran his fingers up the length of her arm, before splaying his hand across her shoulder blades and dragging his palm up and down her spine.

"Do you remember what happened, darling? Anything at all?"

"I think I fainted," Hermione lied, "Perhaps I was dehydrated."

His hand did not cease it's movement up and down her back, as if he were trying to comfort her. He watched her silently, pensively, and Hermione was sure he didn't believe her. Stubbornly, she kept her eye on her plate, eating her food in silence, fighting down the tremors that arose with each movement of his hand on her back. She had never wanted to kill someone so desperately until this moment.

His hand stopped suddenly, and Hermione found that she was so on edge that the pause in his ministrations caused her muscles to coil in on themselves, and she almost reached for her wand. She stopped herself in time, but he had noticed her flinch. She knew he had.

"I need to use the toilet." Hermione said suddenly, placing her fork down. She could have gotten up, but his hand stayed exactly where it was on the small of her back, stopping her.

"I'll accompany you."

"You don't need to do that, Tom, please." She replied quickly, "Finish your lunch."

She turned to look at him then, only because she knew she could not continue to stare down at her plate, and she saw something decidedly dark in his gaze. He didn't like what she said, and though his expression remain characteristically blank, there was something evil and predatory in his eyes. Her heart raced, her blood pumping so fast every part of her felt like it was on fire.

He moved very quickly then, as if he knew she would try to move away, and Hermione reached for her wand. But by the time her fingers grazed the wooden handle, his hand had already settled on her throat, his lips on hers.

It was simultaneously the longest moment in Hermione's life and the quickest. It was long enough for her mind to practically scream in agony, for her heart to stop and then start again. But it was too quick for her body to move—especially too quick to move her hand away from her wand until after he had pulled away. Until after his eyes had settled on her fingers caressing handle.

He smiled again, but she did not like this smile at all. It sent a chill down her spine.

"Go ahead darling."

And she did exactly what he said, quickly rising to her feet and struggling to get her legs moving in the proper way to carry her to the door. Once she exited the Great Hall she leaned against the stone wall of the corridor and shut her eyes, breathing deeply. Her fingers felt numb, so she clenched and unclenched her fists until she could feel the blood pumping into them.

"I need to get out of here," She muttered, then quickly glanced around her to be sure no one had heard her. The last thing she needed was rumors that she was losing her mind to draw attention to her. Once she was sure the hall was clear, she made for Myrtle's bathroom, where she had first awoken.

The bathroom was deserted, understandable considering there had been a murder hardly a year previously. Myrtle wasn't here either, and Hermione could only assume she was still haunting Olive Hornby at this time. Better that way, so Hermione was alone.

She glanced around the bathroom, at a loss of what to look for. What kind of clue was she supposed to find? What could there possibly be to tell her what had happened to bring her here? There was no time turner, and if there had been, it would have been found by now. They're not exactly inconspicuous. She walked slowly toward the sinks, tracing the engravings around the handles.

Poor Myrtle, Hermione mourned, whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and perhaps not keeping quiet when she should have. She had mistaken the monster standing in the bathroom with her for some nameless pervert.

She turned on the sink, cupping the water in her hands and splashing it over her face. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, looking up into the mirror at herself—or more precisely, at Eldora Travers. She had forgotten she was wearing makeup, and the water had smudged it ridiculously across her face. She looked around for a towel or a cloth, but of course there was none. So, pulling out her wand—she figured since there was no one around, she could risk being competent at magic—she took off her headscarf and transfigured it into a cloth and wiped her face clean.

With her hair free of the scarf and now lying a mess around her shoulders and her face free of makeup, she felt more like herself. She still looked nothing like the Hermione Granger of 1996, but perhaps more like her than she would otherwise.

She dropped the cloth on accident, and bent to pick it up. In a clumsy move, she bumped her head on the underside of the sink on the way up and cradled her head in her hands, cursing under her breath. When she opened her eyes, for they had clenched shut upon impact, and noticed something gleaming in one of the stalls.

Hope welled in her chest. Could it be? Perhaps a time turner hidden away in one of the toilet stalls? Rising so quickly she nearly tripped over her own feet, she rushed to the stall and opened the door, falling to her knees to examine the gold jewelry.

It was no time turner.

Feeling her spirits fall, she cradled the odd locket in her hands. It was pretty, although damaged. The clasp was broken and the locket itself looked as if it had been run over by a muggle truck, bent out of shape and covered in dirt. She stood slowly, keeping the locket in her hands as she exited the stall.

She started at the girl standing at the sinks. She hadn't recognized her before, and upon closer examination, Hermione realized she wasn't a girl at all—at least not alive. A ghost, judging by the transparency of her pigment. But it wasn't Myrtle.

Hermione took a tentative step closer, and the girl turned around, staring at her with half-lidded eyes.

Hermione froze, because she knew this girl. And the girl, evidently, knew her. Once Hermione froze under her stare, and the girl realized that she could be seen, a look of murderous rage overcame her.

The ghost of Eldora Travers snarled at Hermione and lunged.

* * *

**I'm sorry I took so long! I have no excuses. I just hope you all haven't lost interest in the story! Please review and let me know what you think!**

**Thank you!**


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione did not know what she expected to find in this bathroom, but she certainly did not expect to find the ghost of the body she now inhabited. Eldora Traver's face twisted into rage, barring her teeth like an animal as she lunged for Hermione. A bucket of ice water—or at least the sensation—bathed Hermione from head to toe as she passed through.

She screeched.

"Quiet down!" Begged Hermione, for how would she explain how her own ghost was outside of her body? The last thing she needed was more attention drawn to her, especially from Voldemort. "Please, please _stop_." But Eldora continued, she thrashed around, throwing open all the bathroom stalls in her fury. Hermione cut her eyes nervously to the exit and back to Eldora.

"Who are you?" Eldora roared, "You've taken my body!"

"Please," Hermione pleaded, taking a slow step back from the raging projection. "I don't even know what happened. I don't know why I'm here!"

"Liar!" She screeched, "Liar! Liar! Liar!"

"I'm not!" Hermione protested, pulling out her wand. She wasn't sure what exactly she could cast on a ghost, but it made her feel better holding it in her hand.

"What are you going to do?" Eldora seethed, "Kill me again?"

"I did _not_ kill you!" Hermione stressed, and Eldora rushed toward her. The witch took three hurried steps backwards to give her space, but Eldora closed in.

"No! You just took my body after the fact! I am supposed to be dead!"

Hermione had nothing to say to that. And judging by Eldora's face—still contorted with rage but wide-eyed and sorrowful—Hermione was fairly sure she knew what had happened in the bathroom before she arrived. "You...tried to kill yourself?" She whispered.

"I _did _kill myself." Eldora snapped, "That's why I'm _dead_. But _you're_ here, now!" She let out another wail and sank to her knees. Hermione was briefly irritated by her melodramatics, but then again, she was taking over her body. Perhaps that was a feasible reason for being overdramatic.

"Eldora," Hermione said, and the ghost girl flinched at the ound of her name. Hermione took a hesitant step forward, "I don't know _what_ happened, but I did not take your body, I just woke up here. I can't remember why." Eldora snapped her head up to glare fiercely at her and Hermione halted in her approach.

After a long time of simply the two staring at each other, Hermione said, "Why..."

But she did not have time to finish.

"Darling?" Both girls snapped their head to the entryway, where Tom Riddle stood, watching them with a calculating stare that Hermione decided she did not like at all. Her heart beat wildly in her chest: How much had he heard? Oh God, he could see them now, he would know something was wrong. Eldora would _tell _him—

"Tom!" Eldora called breathlessly, rising to her feet, "Oh, Tom—"

"Stop." Hermione interrupted pleadingly, and Tom stare turned bemused.

"Stop what?" He said. She cut her eyes to his and stared in wonder. His gaze stayed fixed on her as if he had not even heard Eldora's outburst. And she realized with a growing sense of elation that he had not heard her at all. _Am I the only one who can? _

He awaited an answer, and she hadn't even realized there was a question. "Pardon?" She croaked.

"Stop what?" He repeated, approaching her with a confidence and a grace that no one should approach a girl who was just speaking to herself. But of course, why should he feel wary? He could always kill her.

"Stop...calling me darling," She lamented, "I have a name you know."

"Tom!" Eldora called behind her, "Tom, darling, can't you see me?" Tom smiled, offering Hermione his arm, which she took with a grateful smile. She grimaced as Eldora began to shriek once more and the stalls burst open all at once. Tom stiffened beside her and turned his head back.

"What was that?" He murmured, bemused.

"Perhaps Myrtle," Hermione quickly mumbled, unthinkingly. His eyes suddenly locked on hers, and by the darkness of his gaze Hermione knew she had said the wrong thing. She was astounded, really, the way he could keep his features so controlled while his eyes blazed with fury. She ignored her heart in her throat, and the screaming that reverberated through the bathroom.

"Come, darling," The words burned her tongue, so she distracted herself by tugging on his arm. He took a long, long moment to comply, but when he did he smiled that charming smile and set his arm around her waist, walking her out of the deserted girl's bathroom.

"Interesting choice in bathroom," He said quietly, his hand tightened significantly on the curve of her waist. She did not respond.

She felt the weight of the broken necklace in the pocket of her robe all the way to her next class.

* * *

_Perhaps Myrtle._

What a stupid thing to say. Of course that would be inappropriate, Myrtle wasn't even haunting that bathroom yet! That wouldn't be until Olive Hornby had her exercised. So why else would innocent Eldora Travers mention Myrtle around Tom Riddle after deliberately choosing that bathroom?

Terror seemed to be a regular additive in her veins, nowadays.

Hermione felt exhausted with everything, and it was only the first day. She missed home; She missed Harry and Ron and she missed Ginny and her Parents. She didn't even know what had happened to send her back here, for Godric's sake!

The last thing she could remember before waking up in 1944 was the war, and not even a specific memory. She knew that they were fighting at Hogwarts, and her, Harry, and Ron were working fast to destroy the last of the horcruxes. But what had happened since then? She was fairly sure they won, she was almost certain she remembered seeing Tom Riddle's corpse as a sign of their victory, but everything was so hazy she wasn't sure if it was a real memory or if she was making it up in her head. But even the idea that Tom Riddle may be dead was a comfort to her. Perhaps that was morbid, but no less true.

It was like he knew everything already. It was like all he had to do was look at her and suddenly he knew every detail about her existence. Voldemort was a talented Legilimens, but Hermione was sure that was a talent that he acquired after his time at Hogwarts. Still, when he turned his eyes on her she felt like he could see straight through her, and it terrified her to think that he might already know everything.

But he doesn't, she thought, because could not see Eldora's ghost.

Oh _God_, Eldora's ghost.

It must have had something to do with the locket that she could see her. Was it the locket that was linking Eldora to this place? Or perhaps the very idea that Eldora's should-be-corpse was walking around was enough to tether her to the earth. She slipped her hand in the pocket of her robe and fingered the piece of jewelry, if only to assure herself it was still there.

She had so many questions, but if that blubbering imbecile didn't pull herself together, she would never get any answers.

"Miss Travers," A voice interrupted her thoughts, and she glanced up at her Transfiguration professor. She felt sheepish for zoning out during his lectures, but she had so much to think about she couldn't help it. Her hands were still shaking from the whole ordeal in the girls' toilets, and she could still feel Voldemort's bruising grip on her waist.

"Yes?" She responded, and when a girl near the front of the class scoffed, she realized he had asked her a question that she had not heard.

"You look quite perturbed." He commented, but turned his attention to the girl who had scoffed—she recognized her as the girl who had been so angry at her for waking up late— and continued, "Perhaps, Miss Parkinson, you could answer for Miss Travers?"

Hermione felt vaguely ashamed. She hated pretending not to know. She hated people assuming she was dull. Angrily, she examined this 'Miss Parkinson' until she felt a sharp jab in her side. Francesca beside her rolled her eyes, "Don't worry about her, she's still angry about Tom being in love with you."

_In love_. Now Hermione wanted to scoff.

When class had finally ended, Hermione grabbed Francesca's wrist, "Francesca," She begged, "If Tom is outside, or Avery, could you ask them to go ahead to their own class? I don't need to be walked right now."

It was on impulse that she did this, and upon seeing Francesca's reaction she wasn't sure it was the right choice. But her side still hurt, a constant reminder of how thin the ice she walked upon really was. She didn't wish to ruin anything right now, and she needed time to collect her thoughts. She had hardly had a few minutes, other than late at night when she was nearly losing her mind on her bed, to simply think things through. But Francesca looked at her as if this was the most ridiculous request she had ever received.

"What?" She squawked, "Why?"

"I'm just feeling rather suffocated." Hermione replied, releasing her _friend's_ wrist and beginning to very slowly put her things away, "Please just tell him. Whoever it is."

The taller witch did not move at first. And when she did move, she chose to instead crouch down beside Hermione to meet her eyes, as Hermione had not yet risen from her seat. "Are you completely out of your mind?" She hissed, seemingly fed up with her antics, "This is Tom Riddle—"

"Or Avery." Hermione interrupted, fastening Francesca with a fierce glare. There was a tense moment before Francesca sighed.

"I don't know what's gotten into you." She said, and walked out. Hermione watched out of the corner of her eye as she spoke to Avery at the door. He glanced in worriedly, but otherwise nodded and moved along with Francesca. Hermione thanked her lucky stars it was not Riddle. She wasn't so sure he would comply.

"Professor," She addressed Dumbledore when she was sure no one else was in the room or just outside the hall. She didn't need Riddle knowing she was visiting Dumbledore again. "May I speak with you."

He gave her a long examination, before humming in agreement and starting toward the door that led to his office. She followed him in, sitting down in one of his old chairs and nearly sinking to the floor in it. Without her say-so, he cast a _muffiato_, and sat at his desk.

"How may I hep you, Miss—"

"I can't take it anymore." The words rushed out of her mouth in a tumbling mess, her tongue tripping over her teeth and her gums. "It's all too much. I can't try to regain my memories, figure out a way to go home, handle Eldora, and hang on Tom Riddle's arm like a bloody tramp all at once, I _cannot _do it!"

"I do not follow." He replied calmly, folding one hand over the other on his desk. Hermione leapt to her feet and began pacing the length of his office.

"Eldora is alive," she said, and at the rise of his eyebrows, she corrected herself, "Or, not alive, she is dead, but she's _here_."

After a brief pause, Dumbledore repeated, "I do not follow."

"Eldora!" She stressed, "Eldora is haunting me! She's dead, Professor, I don't know if I killed her or if she killed herself or if she's simply mad, I don't know, but I can't...I can't..." She had begun to cry again, and she had enough of crying. But the tears came flooding out of her eyes like a dam broke and she could not stop them. She felt her mouth twist into a grimace and she covered her face to try to hide it.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke softly, "Please sit."

Hearing her own name had such a beautiful effect. When she closed her eyes and listened to Dumbledore say her name, she could almost believe none of this was real. Like she would open her eyes in her third year, when Dumbledore had called her to his office and offered her that time turner. She could pretend she wasn't stuck here in 1944 with a monster.

"I'm terrified," She said, "And I don't even know why. It's like he knows, Professor." He nodded along as she spoke. He always seemed to understand everything.

"What do you think he knows?" He asked, picking up a bowl of candies and offering her one. She refused.

"Nothing," She said, "I know he knows nothing, but he suspects me and I just...he acts as if he can see through every lie."

Dumbledore hummed in response, taking a candy for himself and popping it into his mouth. "Yes," He said, "And what do you suppose we do about this?"

The tears calmed. "What?" Her voice wobbled, but at least her cheeks began to dry, "What do you mean?"

He did not answer, instead leveling her with a very serious stare. His blue eyes twinkled, watching her over the rim of his half moon glasses.

"Nothing." She said, "I can do nothing."

"There is always something."

She wrung her hands in her lap, feeling helpless and weak and furious with the situation, because there _was _nothing she could do. She couldn't pretend to be Eldora every day—she had never been and would never be an excellent actress. She could not worry constantly about where she is seen, whether it be the library or the bathroom or wherever she is without an escort. And she could not hang on Tom Riddle's arm and pretend to love him, as if everything he did meant nothing. As if the people he _killed_—

"I have to end it." She said suddenly, meeting Dumbledore's eyes across the office, "I can't blend in this way Dumbledore, I can't. I need to end it."

He nodded. "Do as you must, Miss Granger."

She was admittedly frustrated with his lack of direction. Yesterday he says she must blend in and now he allows her to do whatever she pleases? She felt an undeterminable amount of anger swell up in her chest at the thought that he had stopped caring enough to direct her. Was that it? Did he decide he no longer believed her? Did he decide she was no longer worth his time?

But he watched her with kindness, and Hermione knew; no, that was not the reason. The truth was that she was really, truly alone here. She was the only person who could save herself—and it was about time she began acting like it. No one but herself could discover how she had come here, and no one but herself could find a way to go back.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Thank you, Professor." She said, and she began to leave.

"Miss Granger," He called, and she hesitated with her hand on the door. "Please, do come if you need any more guidance."

She smiled gratefully at him and opened the door, but before she left she said, "Professor, do you happen to know what my next class is?"

He smiled bemusedly, "I will conjure up a schedule for you."

* * *

Her final class on this Monday would have been Charms, but she never attended. Instead she stole away to the lake to think. There were some students wandering around, on free period, but no one who Eldora seemed to know because no one approached her.

It was semi-peaceful here, staring out at the lake, but nothing compared to the sanctuary of the library. She didn't dare go there, however, for fear of someone finding her. She needed time on her own, time to think instead of just blindly moving forward to try to keep up with this whirlwind. She was exposed here, sitting in such an open area, but there was something about the openness that granted her more anonymity than sitting in the library with all those students.

Still, she missed the smell of books to calm her shaking breath.

She half expected Eldora to spring out again, but found the space around her silent and still. She began to wonder if perhaps there was no Eldora; if perhaps she was losing her mind. In fact, maybe this whole scenario was a construct of her own broken mind. Is that what happened on the battlefield? Did she lose her mind? Harry and Ron would be sitting at her bedside while she twitched and turned and mumbled madness under her breath. Perhaps she had been there for years. Perhaps...

She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. It would do her no good to think on such preposterous possibilities. The only thing she could do now was try to regain her memories—if there were any left—and try to find a way out of this mess. Hopefully without getting herself killed by the Dark Lord who called himself her lover.

Another deep breath.

She absentmindedly slipper her hand into her pocket, her slim digits toying with the necklace hidden away in her robes. She pondered on Eldora, on what had kept her here and what had allowed Hermione to finally see her. And where was she now? The thought that none of it was real crept into Hermione's mind once more but she forced it away.

Pulling the locket out, if only to assure herself that it was there, she turned it this way and that. She examined the dirt packed into the crevices of what would have been beautiful engravings. Leaves and vines twisted around the edges of the heart shaped locket, trapping dirt and dust against the tarnished silver. The clasp was broken, but it was hard to open due to the unnatural bend in its shape. She pulled out her wand to straighten the heart, and then it fell open.

A pretty portrait of a woman looking very much like Eldora Travers flipped her hair over her shoulder, and it triggered a memory.

_Hermione hated the Chamber of Secrets desperately. Mostly, it stemmed from bitterness. It was, after all, the former home to the very creature that nearly killed her. And she had a right to hate the place whose sole purpose was to house the creature that would be the downfall of every muggleborn to attend Hogwarts._

_So, yes, she hated the Chamber of Secrets. But it helped to have Ron there, walking beside her. She was still so happy that he had come back. With him the burning of her forearm didn't bother her, not even the Chamber of Secrets could bother her. _

_But now was not a time for sentiment._

_They hurried along the corridor, littered with bones upon bones upon bones. It was unnerving to think that only five years ago Harry and Ron had come down here by themselves to confront Voldemort. In a sense, that was happening again tonight. But this time it was Hermione and Ron. And this time it would be the end._

_They came upon the great stone face of Salazar Slytherin, with his mighty basilisk rotted away by his open mouth. She remembered the bright yellow eyes in the reflection of her hand mirror. "It's strange," She said, "to see it now. I was so frightened when I saw it last time." _

_Ron didn't have anything to respond with, and that was fine. They didn't need to speak anyway. All they needed was a fang._

"_Try to break it off of the remains." Hermione ordered, glancing back briefly the way they came, afraid that someone would be there. _

"_I can't get it." He called back, and when she turned back toward him she saw him pulling on the fang with his foot pressed against the lower jaw of the skeleton. He grunted and relaxed, "Harry used one to destroy the diary, that should be lying around somewhere."_

_Hermione sighed impatiently but searched the floor around the basilisk as Ron continued to tug at the tooth. "It doesn't look too terribly difficult to pull out, Ron," She scolded, skirting along the dark edge near the wall for the discarded tooth._

"_Well why don't you give it a bloody go, then?" He grumbled, changing tactics and tugging down on the tooth. His face twisted up in concentration before he let out another huff. _

_She spotted something glimmer in the shadows, and crouched down next to it. But upon examination, she saw it was not the tooth she had been expecting. Rather, it was a necklace. Another Horcrux, perhaps? But when she picked it up and turned it over in her hand, it didn't seem like anything that Voldemort would keep._

_It was a pretty, heart-shaped locket, a vibrant silver with engravings of vines around the edges. It didn't feel like a horcrux, it didn't give her that sense of unease that she got when wielding pieces of Voldemort's soul. Rather, she felt warm wielding this piece of jewelry. But why was it in the Chamber of Secrets?_

_She snapped it open, and a portrait of a pretty woman stared back at her. She was blonde, and fair skinned, and as she flipped her hair over her shoulder she looked at Hermione in a way that made her feel decidedly uncomfortable. Like they knew each other._

"_Have you found it?" She heard Ron call from somewhere behind her. She snapped the locket shut and nearly laid it down, but instead she kept clenched in her fist. She should leave it behind. That would be the responsible thing to do. There was no way that this locket had nothing to do with Voldemort when it was left in the Chamber of Secrets._

_But it felt so warm in her palm. She felt some sort of magic as it lay there, threading itself through her flesh and blood, up her arm and sewing itself into her chest. She could not lay it down._

"_Hermione?" Ron called._

"_Yes," She forced herself to say, looking past her clenched fist to see a gleam of white. She clasped the locket around her neck—it fell just below the neckline of her shirt—and grabbed the fang a mere meter from her. "I found it." _

* * *

_**A big big big big big big thank you to everyone who has been reviewing! And I've gotten a lot of favorites/alerts recently so that's really awesome too! I really appreciate you guys, its knowing that you're interested that keeps me writing. **_

_**So yeah, It's still a lot of set up right now, not a lot of actual Tomione action, buuuut it's going to be kind of a slow burn story. Soon enough it'll get more exciting! Hermione was lucky to wind up in the body of someone else to make her arrival unsuspicious, but it's all beginning to unravel.**_

_**Again, thank you so much for your interest, I hope to update soon! Please review!**_


	5. Chapter 5

"Eldora?"

Hermione's whole body tingled at the memory. Her heart beat furiously in her chest, her lungs too full and her throat constricted. The necklace. She had found the link, she knew what brought her back. Of course she didn't know how or why or when or what happened, but here in her hand lay the answers. This piece of jewelry that was nearly abandoned on the floor of moaning myrtle's bathroom held _all _the answers.

"Eldora?"

But who was the woman in the locket? Perhaps a relative of Eldora? Her mother? It was likely, given that her mother had passed away, for Eldora to place her photo in the locket in her memory. But how could this bring Hermione back decades? What could possibly turn this locket into something so powerful it could transport one through time?

"Eldora."

She was still caught up in her memories, so caught up in fact that it had almost felt like she was back there. Back in the Chamber of Secrets with Ron. She felt the thrill of their success thrum through her veins, even when she managed to focus her attention to the locket in her hand. But she still felt her muscles coil, she felt her blood roar ferociously through her veins—she could hear the flow, she could hear her heartbeat. So when a hand suddenly settled on her shoulder, that adrenaline was not wasted.

Her hand suddenly clenched around the locket, keeping it safely enclosed in her fist as her body readied itself for attack before her mind had time to catch up with her surroundings. She leapt back, whirling around to face the intruder. She stopped herself before she reached for her wand, but even so, Avery stared at her with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

"I didn't mean to startle you." He spoke slowly, as if he expected her to lunge for him. She imagined she must look a fright, all wild eyed and muscles tense. She struggled to relax her arms and legs to appear more at ease, but it proved most difficult.

"I apologize," Hermione finally spoke, "I was lost in thought, you see."

Avery nodded, and mumbled under his breath, "You seem to be lost quite a lot as of late." He didn't seem to think she had heard him, because he never gave her a chance to respond. "You didn't go to charms?"

It severely irritated Hermione that he knew her schedule so well. "Yes," She said, and after a moments hesitation, continued, "It is a useless class anyway."

That was, apparently, the correct thing to say, because he gave her a knowing smile and said, "You think that of most classes."

Hermione supposed that she would just have to learn that the times she would have to think on her own would be far and few between. Especially if she continued pretending to be Eldora, the woman with two men on her arm. It was easier to accept that now that she had something to lead her home.

"What is that?" He asked suddenly, gesturing weakly to her her clenched fist. He spoke carefully, she noticed, as if he was afraid of something. Of her?

She lifted her arm and unfurled her fist, staring down at the beaten locket in her palm. "Your locket? What happened to it?"

Hermione told the truth. "I don't remember."

He looked at her very oddly then—she saw it in the corner of her eye. "Let me see." He said suddenly, taking a step toward her.

She watched his arm outstretch for the locket Terror hit like lightning—quick and fast and overwhelming—at the prospect that he could take this form her, the only lead she's had so far of her situation. And while the locket may not have warmed her like it did in her memory, the thought of what she had learned now set fire to the small space on her hand where skin touched tarnished silver. The logical part of her said that his intention must be to fix it, and no harm could come from bringing the locket back to its former (and future, judging by the memory) glory. But the part of her still desperate for home and desperate for answers howled at the thought of its loss.

So she clenched her fist and cradled it against her chest. His hand stopped in midair, his eyes tracing her stance. "No, thank you, Avery." She said.

Neither moved for a short moment.

"Of course." Avery cleared his throat, lowering his hand and straightening his robes. "Shall we go on a walk?" He held his arm out for her to take. She wanted to ask why, and where they would walk, and who they would walk with. But she supposed she had acted suspiciously enough for one day, so she tucker the necklace away in her pocket and took his arm.

"Avery?" He inquired, leading her toward the castle. She wondered if he was leading her back to Riddle. Perhaps those were his orders. Is that why he had looked so afraid earlier? Perhaps he was sent to retrieve her? She managed to hum in agreement, not entirely hearing him but knowing that she should respond. "Why would you call me that?"

She turned her head to him suddenly, the fear that she had called her fiance of all people the wrong name, but she was sure that this was Avery. Wasn't it? Carefully, she asked, "That is you're name, is it not?"

He didn't answer an affirmative or negative, instead he said, "You told me once you despise people addressing others by their surnames."

Her tongue felt very dry, so she didn't respond. She didn't even know what his given name was.

"But..." He continued, "Maybe Riddle is rubbing off on you. He addresses nearly everyone by their surnames."

And though she loathed how people kept telling her Riddle was rubbing off on her, she kept her mouth shut.

"Where are we walking?" Hermione asked pleasantly. If there was anything she could do, it was stay polite.

"I thought perhaps it would do you well to be around people. Your friends are in the common room." His reply was pleasant, if slightly domineering. Hermione wished she could say no, but she knew that would be something decidedly unlike Eldora, and she had already been enough of a stranger to these people. She could do this.

"That sounds wonderful." She replied, slapping an amicable smile on her face.

"You seem in good spirits now." Avery commented beside her.

"Well," Hermione answers truthfully, "I found my locket."

He patted her hand on his arm and said "You do love that locket."

Hermione didn't, actually. Given that it was quite probable that this locket was the reason that she was here in the first place, she rather hated it. But Eldora adored it, evidently.

Avery stopped in the hall just outside the common room and turned to face Hermione fully. Her hand slipped out from his arm and fell limply to her side. "I am happy to see you feeling better," He said, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder what was going through his head to ignore her behavior from outside. Could it be possible that all she had to do was slip on a smile and everyone would believe she was fine?

He caught his hand in the hair at the back of her neck and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Hermione found his movements all together robotic and stiff, not at all like the fluid motions that Riddle was capable of when it came to playing romance. And she wondered for the first time if Avery was using Eldora in the same way Voldemort was. Perhaps using her for Voldemort? Hermione felt very sick at the thought that everyone she may interact with would be under Riddle's thumb, and she decided—as Avery spoke the password and tugged her through the entrance—that it would be unwise to dwell on it at the moment.

She felt a chill as she entered the room, and as subtly as she could she searched the room. But Eldora wasn't there.

"My love," She head a familiar baritone sing, and she was startled into awareness by his wide, charming smile. "I hear you skipped charms today."

Her jaw twitched. She longed to remind him that he needn't question her every move and decision because whether or not she went to class was none of his business, but instead she smiled and said, "Yes, well..."

Francesca, sitting on the floor with her ankles crossed at her side, interrupted, "I thought maybe you were going to fix your appearance, but apparently not." Hermione felt briefly self-conscious, but kept her smile wide and allowed Avery to lead her to the love seat. "Honestly," She continued, "I spent so much time making you look presentable."

"She must've washed it off in the bathroom." Tom commented lightly, but Hermione heard the unmistakable edge in his voice. She cut her eyes to his and found him watching her with an imperceptible smile on his face. She still wasn't sure how much he heard her say. Perhaps he was digging for information? Or, she thought, perhaps it's a threat. Maybe he plans on revealing what had happened in the bathroom to the room if he didn't like her answer. A silent rage filled her to the brim. She cared very little what these people thought of her, but she could do with a bit of anonymity and access to one of the largest libraries she would ever have access to. She didn't need everyone believing she was mentally unwell and sending her out of Hogwarts for treatment, even if she wasn't well.

"Yes," She responded carefully, "Do you make a habit of walking in on unsuspecting women in the girls' bathroom, Tom?"

Francesca let out quite an unladylike snort whilst Avery sat stock still. But Voldemort's smile only grew to an unsettling wideness, so that you could count all the pearl-white teeth set in his gums. "Only for you, darling." Francesca laughed very loudly at that, and Hermione struggled not to avert her eyes from his unwavering gaze. He looked at her like he just won a prize, and she couldn't for the life of her figure what she had said wrong.

When she finally felt it would be unsuspicious for her to avert her gaze, her stomach dropped to her ankles. She was careful not to flinch or otherwise show any recognition on her face, but Eldora stood in the corner of the room—or perhaps floated—watching the occupants of the room wistfully. Despite her efforts, Hermione could feel her hands shaking and she prayed that Eldora would not pull the same dramatics as she had in the aforementioned bathroom.

"What on earth are you squawking about, Frannie?" A voice cut in, and the girl who had been with Francesca when Hermione awoke in the hospital wing—God, that felt like weeks ago—sat beside her friend. Francesca shot the girl, Druella, a dirty look.

"Eldora seems to be fairing better. Her and Tom are simply adorable." She gave Hermione a wink, which she managed to respond to with a weak smile. Her eyes flickered to Eldora standing silently in the corner, watching her. Hermione's hands continued to shake.

"She doesn't look to be fairing better," Druella said nastily, and Hermione shot her a stern look before reminding herself to remain discreet. Francesca laughed loudly again.

"I think she's going through a phase. Perhaps it's one of those silly feminist movements." It took every ounce of Hermione's self control to say nothing. It helped when Eldora was standing hardly three meters away, watching her every move and listening to her every word.

"She still looks lovely," Avery said almost mechanically. He sat beside her leaning his chin on his palm, looking extremely bored with the conversation. Hermione wished she could feel as relaxed as he looked, leaning into the love seat as if it were his own bed, as if he could fall asleep here. She glanced at Eldora again, who still hadn't moved, who still watched her.

"Boys will think any girl who lets him kiss her is lovely." Druella laughed, "We all know you're in love with her, Vincent, you needn't remind us."

Vincent Avery, Hermione thought, and she stowed that in her memory for later. Vincent Avery smiled at her and ran a hand through her hair before dropping it back to his side. She watched the way his hand fell, like his fingers were already exhausted with the feel of her. And he soon returned to sitting beside her with his chin on his palm and staring off into the distance.

She glanced Eldora's way, but found her gone.

She couldn't help the way she finally sat alert, and though she managed to keep her body calm after the initial jerk, her eyes still flew wildly around the room in search of her.

"Is something wrong, darling?" Voldemort sat calmly observing her, watching her like she was his favorite insect to examine.

"My back hurts," She lied quickly, winding her arm to rub at her lower back and exaggerating her posture. From his seat he lifted a steady hand and gestured for her to come nearer. She couldn't imagine what he wanted to do, so she shut it down as quickly as she could.

"No, Tom, I'm fine." She said firmly, and she saw his eyes flash. Apparently he wasn't used to hearing no.

The lamp beside Hermione suddenly fell over, bonking her hard on the head. Druella and Francesca let out a shriek at the surprise, and Hermione jumped, but Tom remained fairly still. Avery at her side quickly lifted the tall lamp away from her.

"What on earth was that?" Francesca gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. Hermione turned to face where the lamp was but there was no one there. She knew there had been, though. Apparently Eldora was not used to hearing no either.

"I think I'd like to rest," Hermione said. Druella has burst into giggles after the lamp spectacle and continued even through Hermione's words.

"Are you alright?" She chortled, not sounding at all worried about her. Hermione frowned disapprovingly but ignored her otherwise. Avery began to help her to her feet but she brushed him off impatiently. Rubbing the growing bump in her head—was she bleeding?—and planning to tend to it with magic when there were no eyes to see.

Once Avery had once again draped himself in his seat like a wet cloth, Hermione hurried around the two girls seated on the floor and made for the girls' dormitories. A hand, however, found its place sprawled out against her lower stomach, halting her. She nearly flinched away, but decided that would be a decidedly unwise thing to do, and she was trying to blend in right now until she could think things through. So she carefully molded her face into one of curious surprise and awaited his command.

She felt like a mouse.

Tom balanced a wand precariously against his fingers and gestured for her to kneel down beside him. The thought of it made her feel sick, but she sensed no ill will from him (at least, no more than usual. There were observers here after all) so she did as she was asked. The room was suspiciously quiet as he fingered through her hair so he could properly see the injury. She tried to cut her eyes to the remaining occupants, but she had to keep still as he cast a healing charm. His hand lingered in her hair longer than necessary—whether it was for show or because he could tell she was uncomfortable, she couldn't be sure. Either way, she stood and made toward the girls' rooms immediately after he finished, without even offering him a grateful word.

"Is she not hungry?" She heard Francesca ask behind her.

Hermione figured having a lamp dropped on her head was good enough reason to skip dinner, whether she was pretending to be Eldora or not. Besides, she couldn't stop shaking.

* * *

What Hermione ended up doing is hiding in one of the bathroom stalls in the girls dorm because she could hear the murmurs of conversation from the common room while she sat in there. At least 13 people had come and gone out of that bathroom while she hid there, but none had noticed her, so she felt it was an acceptable hiding place. She waited until she heard them file out of the common room (at least she was pretty sure that's what they were doing, the conversation faded away and there was a thump that may have been a door closing) and then she picked up an empty bag and hurried out of the bathroom. She cast a disillusionment charm to be safe.

Once she made it out of the common room she practically sprinted to the library, keeping her charm up and keeping an eye out for Tom or anyone who may be with him. Hermione wasn't sure the extent to which he was watching her, but it couldn't be a coincidence that she had hardly had a moment to herself since she arrived. It's one thing to be haunted by Eldora, that she could handle. Or she _could_ handle it if Voldemort weren't haunting her as well.

When she arrived in the library she took a deep breath through the nose, taking in the smell of parchment and old books and ink bottles and quills, and she listened to the sound of turning pages and writing and the librarian shushing the noisy students. It felt good to be home.

Home. Best not to think of that right now.

She found a quiet place among the books and removed the disillusionment charm. It wasn't as if she could hide from everyone forever with that, but it helped to be a bit invisible. She would love to have Harry's invisibility cloak right now.

Best not to think of Harry either.

Instead, Hermione was interested in research. Given that it was dinner time, there weren't many people around the library. Most had congregated in the Great Hall by this time, awaiting their food. So Hermione hurried to find all the books she might need before people would start to fill the library again. She didn't need word getting to Riddle where she was, because no doubt he would ask why she was there, and Hermione just wanted to avoid any interaction with him at all.

She searched the section regarding poltergeists, she researched all sorts of ghosts, she searched hauntings, she searched enchanted jewelry even—which just seemed to be a book on fashion, but it was worth a try. After about thirty minutes she had a stack of books in her arms that she quickly shrunk and put in her bag. It pained her to take them without checking them out, but she still had all those other books in her room, so she wasn't sure the librarian would let her. And how would it look if Eldora suddenly became such a bookworm? Best to just take them.

She recognized on girl at a table near the entrance, her nose buried deep in a book. It was the Parkinson girl who seemed to hate Eldora so much. Francesca seemed to think it was because she liked Riddle, and Hermione believed it. She remembered how viscous girls could get about boys back home, and none of them were half as charming and attractive as Tom Riddle. Of course none of those boys were psychopathic murderers either, but she could hardly blame Parkinson for not knowing that.

She would have avoided her, but her table was too close to the exit, and avoiding her would just cause for more of a distraction than walking right beside her. So she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin and did the best impression of Draco Malfoy she could possibly manage and made her way toward the exit. She was curious, though, what books she was reading. Especially as she did not have the chance to explore the library yet. So as she walked by, she carefully read the titles.

Oh. Thy weren't particularly uninteresting books, but they were particularly dark. Hermione was sure she had gotten these from the restricted section, which although that may not be terrible, they were on some nefarious content. These would be the type of books Tom Riddle would love. Maybe Parkinson really was in love with him.

Hermione had not realized she had stopped until the girl lifted her nose from her dark books and glared at her fiercely.

"What do you want, Travers?" she snapped, shutting her book loudly. Hermione pursed her lips.

"Where did you find those? Certainly not anywhere you're allowed to go."

"I'll have you know," Parkinson pushed the book away from her on the table and pulled one of the others beside her closer and opened it up right to the middle. "That these are for Tom. He asked me to get them for him. I just figured I'd read a bit of them myself first."

For Tom, Hermione thought. Now that is interesting. "What does Tom want with a book on dark curses." She could only imagine.

"Knowledge." Parkinson sniffed, "Not that you would know anything about that."

Hermione could not stop the fierce glare that took over her features. She told herself that she could blow Parkinson out of the water with her test scores. She repeated that like a mantra. "I don't think you're allowed to have those books here." Hermione said.

"Tom asked me to get them from my Uncle." Parkinson sneered, and she began to stack the books in front of her. She stood so she was level with Hermione and stared her down nose-to-nose. "He wants me to give it to him." And with a lewd smile she added, "Of course I mean the books."

Hermione thought it was a poor innuendo. But the way the girl looked at her like she was dirt on her shoe is what really got her blood boiling. _What does it matter, _Hermione thought, _even if she knew my intelligence she'd still look down on me for my blood. _But it still irritated her beyond all belief that this girl found her of common intelligence.

She realized then that she had been staring Parkinson down. She didn't even know her first name and she had already had an altercation with her. So without another word, she turned to walk out of the library.

It wasn't until she felt suddenly very light headed, and black and grey swam through her vision, that she realized she could not remember the last time she ate.

* * *

When she awoke her stomach ached with hunger but she felt otherwise warm and comfortable. She debated as her insides began to eat themselves if it was worth leaving this comfortable bed to get food. She wasn't blessed with any misconceptions of where she was. She did not believe for one blissful second that she was back with Harry and Ron and all of her loved ones. She knew that she was stuck back in time, trapped with the very monster she was working so hard to take down. Except now no one knew he was a monster. And now it would not be acceptable to kill him. Besides, she recalled, dangerous things happen to witches who meddle with time.

Such unpleasant thoughts to have in such a comfy bed, she thought, and she stretched out like a cat before slowly blinking her eyes open.

This was not at all what she expected.

It wasn't entirely different to Eldora's room. The bed was much nicer, of course. It was bigger and the blankets were plush, and everything was so _green_. She was exhausted with the color green nowadays. Sitting up she saw a tray of biscuits on the bedside, but she didn't touch them.

She could see the wizard robes hung over the side of a chair and she knew exactly whose room she was in, and she wouldn't eat anything she found in here. She'd rather starve.

She pulled herself out from under the covers (she wondered morbidly if he had tucked her in and read her a bedtime story. To her tired mind it was quite a funny picture) and she checked all her limbs and all her clothes. She saw her bag at the foot of the bed as well, and she quickly swung the strap across her body, her feet still dangling off the tall bed frame.

Someone must have cast some sort of replenishing spell on her after her fainting spell in the library. She recalled now that the last time she had eaten was technically breakfast, but she hadn't eaten hardly anything on that plate, and other than that she wasn't sure at all when she had eaten. How silly, for her to pass out in the library—the one place she really did not want to be found—because of such a stupid mistake. Forgetting to eat.

And now she was in Riddle's dorm. Was this what the head dorms looked like? She supposed the rooms changed depending on who occupied them. She would've been head girl, she thought, if she had made it that far.

Not dead yet, she reminded herself. And besides, she had already decided that such sad thoughts weren't suitable for such a comfortable bed. And as she scrunched her nose, she thought how unfair it was that the villains always seemed to be the ones with the nicest furniture. She slid off the bed and upon finding her feet bare, she searched the room for her shoes. They were tucked away by the door, and she quickly slid them on and laid her hand on the doorknob.

Half of her expected the door to open and reveal Voldemort in the entryway, hands up and claws out and ready to take her down. But all she saw was a long, empty hall leading to a stairwell that Hermione thought must lead to the heads common room. She wondered if it could be possible for her to slip out without him ever seeing her.

Of course life could never be that kind. When she descended the stairs, he was sitting in a chair by a fireplace, looking far more menacing than relaxed. His eyes met hers and his blank face melted into something disgustingly sincere and loving and it made her want to punch him in the throat.

"Darling," He breathed in relief and stood to hurry over to her. His hands fluttered around her uselessly and she wondered why the hell he bothered acting when it was just him and her in that room. "Are you feeling better? Did you eat a biscuit I left for you?"

At that point it had fully registered to Hermione that they were alone. There were no bystanders this time to force him to remain polite if she did something wrong. And she always seemed to do or say something wrong around him. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, so loud she could hardly hear his voice over the sound of it.

"No." she replied after a long pause, "No I didn't."

He seemed briefly annoyed, "You need to eat something. That replenishing charm will only be good for so long."

"I'll eat something." She insisted, "Thank you. Goodbye."

He caught her around the waist when she tried to rush past him. "Darling, what on earth has gotten into you? You haven't eaten, you fainted, and now you refuse to eat anything else?" God, it made Hermione so sick to see him worry. She wished he would just be cruel, at least she was used to that. But listening to him care for her made her feel physically ill. And physically violent.

"I just don't want a biscuit, Tom."

"I'll get you something else then."

"No," Hermione refused, and with finality, she continued, "I don't want you to get me food I want to get food myself."

His eyes got very dark then. The hands that had settled on her hipbone and her forearm tightened almost imperceptibly. His mouth twitched, she noticed, but otherwise his face remained neutral. She wondered what he might look like if he weren't so restrained. She would rather see that.

"My love," He gritted, and she wondered if that's what he called Eldora when he was angry. "You have to understand how worried I was when Helvetica told me—"

"Helvetica?" Hermione interrupted, and she definitely saw him twitch this time.

"Parkinson." He clarified, and in a very mean tone added, "Don't interrupt."

Parkinson, Hermione thought. To be honest she was surprised. She would have thought Parkinson would have kicked her while she was out and then dragged her body out to bury her rather than find Riddle to help. Perhaps there were too many witnesses. She laughed a bit at that thought, and when Riddle's eyes narrowed, she wondered if she might be starting to lose her mind.

"Is something funny, darling?" He asked.

Perhaps not funny, Hermione thought, but peculiar. Hermione wondered if Parkinson was serious about a relationship with Riddle. It certainly wouldn't be unbelievable for him to have a woman on the side for more information (especially if this mistress has an Uncle who had access to dark books) but would he really risk being outed as a cheater?

A lightbulb went on above her head.

Never let a good crisis go to waste.

"Nothing, darling." She said, "I am rather hungry, will there still be food in the Great Hall?"

He took a moment to process her sudden change in demeanor. She waited for his response, and when he did reply it was very slow, as if it were strained. "Yes, but mostly it will be gone. It's late."

Hermione nodded, "Let's get some food then, _darling._"

He led her to the Great Hall then, which wasn't too terribly far from the heads dorm. He was right that most of the food was gone. But most of the students weren't. Hermione remembered that sometimes students would stay in the Great hall for a couple hours at dinner time, and she couldn't have been out for more than thirty minutes. She sat beside Riddle and found what she could to eat. He was silent.

She waited until she had finished her plate before she spoke again.

"I had the most interesting conversation with Parkinson in the library." She said, and she waited for his reaction. She was extremely disappointed when he had none.

"What did you talk about?" He asked, seemingly bored with her and everyone.

"She had some books she said she was giving to you." She watched him in the corner of her eye. Either he had a very good explanation or he was a very good actor, "Among other things."

He turned his eye on her now. "Other things?"

She nodded, eyeing a group as they made their way out of the Great Hall. She would need to escalate quickly if she wanted a scene.

"Other _things._ I'm _sure_ you know what I mean, Tom."

"Darling, what are you—" She could tell he hated it when she cut him off, so she did just that.

"Do_ not _call me darling." She hissed, throwing her fork down in the best tantrum she could. She considered storming toward the door to let him follow in order to garner more attention, but she couldn't risk him not following. So she stayed where she was.

He pursed his lips and said nothing.

"Have you or have you now been seeing Parkinson?"

Hermione didn't like the way he examined her after that. He didn't even answer her question, and for a moment it felt like she was losing control of the situation. It was as if by simply keeping silent and observing he could turn everything she planned up on its head and take over. And how, _how_ could someone instill this much fear by simply sitting there and frowning? It was in this moment of terror and desperation that her plan started to crumble, and as she normally did when anger took over, she took to violence.

The noise sounded through the whole Great Hall,or at least it felt like it. They had, Hermione now noticed, a small audience from the Slytherin table as well as some from the Ravenclaw table beside them, who watched with gaping mouths at Tom's redding cheek and Hermione's stinging palm. And the glare he gave her—oh it was murderous. But he knew just like she knew that he couldn't do anything when this many people were watching. His carefully constructed rouse of being a perfect student wouldn't be tarnished by being a bit of a womanizer, but to become violent would do unspeakable things to his reputation.

She had to fight not to grin as he watched her like he wanted to burn her alive, but knew he couldn't.

"Don't ever speak to me again." She said, trying her hardest to sound tearful as she stood with her bag and stormed out of the Great Hall. As soon as she was out she sprinted away, knowing that Tom would not chase after her but also knowing that he would be murderous. She went to the kitchens, because she felt that he might be able to get to her in the girls dorm, and she was sure he knew of the room of requirement and she couldn't let on that she knew as well. The house elves, although confused at her presence, offered her food and drink and service and she politely declined.

Her whole body as shaking. But God it felt good to be free of him. Perhaps not free, exactly, because it was very likely he would want to do something to her after this, but it was more likely that he would refrain from doing anything to her. She remembered the way he still kept up a facade even when they were alone. Eldora was someone that was important, it seemed. Certainly not to him, but to the community in some way. She was well known. She just had to hope that would be enough to refrain from killing her. So long as she made sure not to give him any more reason to be suspicious of her, she should be fine.

Of course she should never assume dealing with Riddle would be so easy.

"He's going to do something awful to you for that." Eldora's ghost materialized in front of Hermione and she barely choked back a surprised scream.

* * *

**Wow! That was a longer chapter than normal. I do sort of want to make my chapters a bit longer and I guess there's just a lot more happening right now. So yeah...a bit of Tom and Hermione interaction but certainly nothing juicy yet. Don't worry, that comes later!**

**It was a quick update this time (or pretty quick) so I just want to give a quick shout out to those who reviewed—JuliaLestrange, rvg79, Cassie-D1, and Guest! I also want to shout out to all of you who favorited and followed—there's too many to mention, I think, but I really appreciate you all so much!**

**Please review, let me know if you find any grammatical mistakes as I don't have a beta, but more than that to let me know what you think so far! Let me know what you like or didn't like or what you think is going to happen. I'm going to start trying to reply to reviews I think so definitely drop one by! Thank you for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione stood in shocked silence for a long time, staring into the wide eyes of the half-transparent Eldora Travers.

"Eldora…" She murmured, both in relief and apprehension.

"You know him, somehow," Eldora's voice seemed to waver, as if she still felt she could cry, "Don't you?"

"I…I'm not sure what you mean."

"I didn't know," Eldora continued, "But I've been watching him lately, since…" The words went unspoken, but 'since you inhabited my body' was understood, "I didn't know. But you did…" She stayed so unearthly still and stared unblinkingly into Hermione. She had forgotten how unsettling ghosts could be.

"Who are you?" Questioned Eldora, "And what is your intent?"

Hermione wondered if this was rehearsed. She couldn't imagine she'd had much time to think on anything else, and if she had been following Tom like she said, then its possible she's seen quite terrible things of him. To have someone you so desperately love turn out to be such a monster would unsettle anyone.

Unsettle? Hermione paused in thought. What a strange word to use. Horrify might be more apt.

"Eldora," She choked, her eyes flittering around the room, paranoid of who might overhear, "I have no intent here, I'm not even sure how I—"

"Bullshit," Eldora snarled.

"It's not!" Hermione begged, "Please, don't disappear, just listen." She dug through her pocket to pull out the damaged locket, "My name is Hermione Granger, and I am from the year 1998. I don't remember what happened. I don't know how I got here, but _this_," She held the locket before the ghostly girl's eyes.

"Where did you get that?"

She sounded terrified, and it stopped Hermione's borderline manic-sounding rant for a moment. "I—well, it was in the bathroom, but I saw it before."

"Before?" Elder asked, hollow.

"In 1998." She clarified, "I found it in—" Hermione stopped herself before she said 'the chamber' and instead opted for a more vague location, "in Hogwarts. This could be the reason I'm here, if you tell me what happened with this, maybe we can figure out how to get me back to my own body and get you in yours."

Eldora shook her head, "No, we can't."

"What?" Hermione laughed, more out of shock than anything else. Adrenaline shot through her veins at the mere thought of figuring this mystery out, talking to Eldora without her disappearing or harming her. She felt like she finally had an ally. But no? "Why not? Eldora we can fix this!"

"No, we can't!" More desperate this time, and it seemed the desperation was contagious.

"Eldora!" Hermione struggled to keep her voice down, barely remembering that she was in the kitchens where anyone could enter. "I'm trying to fix this! Whatever happened, whatever I did to you or to us, I'm trying to fix it, but you need to _help me._"

"No!" She shrieked, and one of the tables flipped onto its side. A House elf stared in shocked silence by the wall but said nothing. Hermione tried in vain to make it appear like she wasn't talking to herself.

"Eldora," She beseeched, but whatever she could've said, she never got the chance.

"This is my fault." Eldora sobbed, but her eyes were dry—how could they be anything else, after all? "I did this, Hermione, not you. Don't you see?"

She really didn't, but it didn't matter because a group of Hufflepuffs opened the kitchen doors at that point, and Eldora disappeared. There were five of them gathered at the door, staring from the table to Hermione—or as they saw, Eldora—with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Hermione felt furious tears well up in her eyes as she stormed past them out the door.

As always, she was only left with more questions.

—

She kept her wand out while she walked through the was paranoid and silly, because she knew that Riddle wanted something from her—from who she was pretending to be—by the way he treats her in private, so he wouldn't outright attack her in the halls. But she couldn't be sure what her actions had warranted as a consequence.

When the terror and the panic swallowed up her lungs, though, she would remind herself that she no longer had to allow him to kiss her, and that gave her peace.

She still had Avery to worry about; her betrothed. But she had gotten the feeling that he wasn't grandly interested in her to begin with, and she could only assume this was a marriage of convenience. If Eldora, the real Eldora, would stick around for more than ten bloody minutes at a time, however, she might get some real answers on the matter.

As students walked by she hid her wand at her side, but kept in brandished just in case. Her eyes fluttered around the halls, wall to wall and ceiling to floor, constantly flickering about. She had felt like this before, nearly constantly on the run with Harry. But there was something profoundly unsettling about the way she felt while everyone around her was still so calm, so at ease.

How could she be so filled with panic and anxiety, and they still feel safe? How could they not feel the same danger she felt?

She knew the answer, of course, but the feeling remained.

It all felt like a dream. Like a nightmare.

"El—" Hermione didn't even take the time to process the voice before she spun around with her wand pointed ahead of her. The blonde girl, who had approached her once when Hermione first arrived in this time—what was her name? Sophie?—stood with her hands up, seemingly in surrender.

"Eldora," She said slowly, "Merlin," Hermione lowered her wand. "Are you alright?"

Hermione stood in silence, knowing that sometimes its better to say nothing than to lie.

"I saw what happened in the Great Hall," The girl—the Ravenclaw—said. "I thought…I wanted to know if you were alright."

She took a step closer. Hermione wasn't sure what to make of her, really. Dumbledore had never mentioned Eldora having any friends outside of Slytherin.

"What is your name?" Hermione asked.

"Are you forgetting things again?"

Hermione remained silent once again.

"Sophia Rowle," The girl sighed, "Listen, I know I must be the last person you would want to talk to right now, but…" She bit her lip and avoided Hermione's gaze. She ran a hand through her short blonde hair and let out a frustrated huff. Then, suddenly she took Hermione's hand, the one that wasn't gripping a wand so tightly her knuckles were white. Hermione jumped at the contact, but Sophia didn't let go.

There was a familiarity in the way Sophia looked at her now, and Hermione wondered how closer her and Eldora might've been. She certainly looked at her fondly, and she was reminded strikingly of Harry in the way she gazed at her, somehow with both fondness, and worry, and exasperation. Hermione wished she knew her. She wished she knew what was going on.

"After what happened with Avery…I know I overstepped, but…I still consider you my friend. And I'm here if you need me."

Hermione ran her thumb along the back of Sophia's hand and thought of Harry. She tried to convince herself, just for one blissful moment, that it was his hand in hers. That he was comforting her. That her own friend was here. But Sohpia's hand was tiny and soft and her nails were clean and filed. She had a charm bracelet on.

The Ravenclaw girl's gesture of kindness made Hermione feel more alone than ever.

"Why?" Hermione asked. She pulled her hand away.

Sophia's hand hovered in the space between them for a time. Then, quietly and nearly conspiratorially, she said, "I overhead some Hufflepuffs talking about you in the kitchen with an overturned table?" Hermione rubbed at her eyes, exhausted.

"I just want to know if you're alright, pasts aside."

"We have no past," Hermione snapped.

Sophia's mouth snapped shut. "Right." She said quietly, "Forgive me for caring about you."

She left, and Hermione was alone again.

Frustrated tears built in her eyes but she forced them down. She hadn't meant to snap at the girl, but all the talk of a past that Hermione would never remember was wearing her out. And how long until Eldora would actually speak to her for longer than a moment? Until she could finally be out of the dark?

Hermione had always hated not knowing something. Now she didn't know anything, and it made her feel confused and weak and furious.

Eldora's friends were waiting for her when she entered the Common Room. Druella and Francesca flocked her at the door.

And Tom Riddle lounged in one of the chairs beside the fire, watching her. She met his eyes and her body turned to ice.

Druella was angry at her, from what she could hear. Talking about what a catch she threw away, how devastated Riddle was, how horrible Eldora was for accusing him of something, how foolish she was for being so public, how angry he felt and how no one breaks up with Tom Riddle. Hermione might wonder, later, just how much of Tom Druella knows, judging by her emphasis on his anger while he sat there looking nothing but, but for the moment her mind was infuriatingly quiet.

Instead she focused on her tormentor. Avery near him, laughing with a boy Hermione had met once—Nott if she remembered right—spotted her in the doorway and his smile flittered off his face. He glanced at Riddle with apprehension. But Voldemort remained at ease, not tense or angry or even upset. His elbow rested on the armrest, his hand at his jaw. She watched his fingers—not quite the inhuman, spidery fingered horror she was used to—run across his mouth as he watched her.

He was pondering her, but that wasn't it really. He was observing her, calculating. And he looked at her so differently than he had before. His expression had always been schooled into that of a smitten school boy, but now he seemed relaxed, if Voldemort ever could be such a thing. His eyebrow quirked, like something about her had intrigued him suddenly, and she felt her heart fall, slowly, to the pit of her stomach when his lips twitched upwards.

How long had she been staring at him? Not long enough for Druella to stop her incessant babbling. Perhaps a few seconds? But long enough for her reaction to his presence to apparently incite a smile. His hand fell to his lap—and she _hated_ his hands, hated how human they looked and she hated how handsome he looked in the light of the fire when she knew who she was, when she _knew_ the monster that dwelled behind the shadow of his lashes. She _knew_ the snarling beast that awaited, veiled by that very same smile he gave to her, and _why hadn__'__t he looked away_?

So she did the only thing that seemed situationally appropriate.

She allowed herself to cry.

Druella choked on her words beside her. Francesca's hands fluttered around her shoulders, and her face, and her hair. Francesca said things in a hushed voice like, of course she left him, if he was with Helvetica then he deserved it, and how dare Druella lecture her for it. She said Eldora was too good for Tom. She laid her hands gently across Hermione's shoulders and pulled her head to her breast and made shushing and cooing noises like Hermione was a child.

And Hermione watched the beast where he sat, she watched his smile fall but his brow raise, and she pocketed her wand and held Francesca and cried and prayed that he would lose interest in whatever he saw.

He looked away. The tears continued to fall.

"I—I—I'm—I—" Hermione choked. Francesca shushed her and led her upstairs to their room.

—

Francesca had let her lie in her bed while she cried on her chest. Druella went to her own bed and cast a silencing charm and went to sleep. Francesca fell asleep too, and Hermione didn't dare move from her place lying on Francesca's collarbone. The taller girl's hand rested against Hermione's hair, and Hermione was afraid of moving it and disturbing her. She didn't want to disturb the quiet.

She saw Eldora sitting at the bedside. Strangely enough it didn't startle her this time the way she appeared so suddenly. Instead, she stayed very still and watched the ghost girl and waited. They stayed there in the silent room for a long time.

"My mother gave me that locket before she died." Eldora said. "I put a picture of her in it, did you see?"

Hermione didn't care to reply.

"I tried to destroy it." Eldora admitted.

"Why?" Hermione murmured, careful to remain very still. She spoke so quietly she could hardly hear herself.

"Because I hated it." She said, "It's been ruined."

"How has it been ruined?" At Eldora's silence, she changed her question, "Who ruined it?"

Eldora didn't disappear this time, but simply said, "My Father."

Hermione left it at that, not wanting to scare her away. "Do you think that's what did this to us?"

Eldora didn't look at Hermione while she spoke to her, instead stared at some corner of the room. She looked so miserable that Hermione wondered if she might cry if she could. She waited for her to respond, and though she could hardly breathe at the thought that Eldora could leave at any moment and not give any more answers, she waited.

"I killed myself," Eldora said. Hermione flinched, causing Francesca to stir in her sleep, but otherwise remain untroubled.

"Eldora…" She started, at a loss for words, "Why…."

"The necklace was a horcrux." Hermione laid there in silence, watching Eldora as she spoke. "I tried to destroy it and destroy myself. I suppose something went wrong."

"But how did _I_ get here?" Hermione wondered. Eldora, perhaps recognizing that this was not a question for her but Hermione thoughts finding themselves in the silence of the room, didn't answer.

"I know it's useless now," Hermione said, "But I'm sorry, Eldora."

She half expected her to be gone after she said it, but she remained.

There were still so many questions, so many possibilities, so many explanations Hermione still needed. But as she laid there on Francesca's bed and watched Eldora as she sat there, looking so hurt and so mournful and so torn, and as she listened to the peaceful quiet of the room, she couldn't find it in her to disturb the moment. She watched Eldora as she fell asleep.

Eldora stayed until Hermione succumbed the her exhaustion, and Hermione took it as a sign that things where finally changing in her favor.

—

The next week was difficult.

Francesca hovered around her constantly, which may have been sweet if they were actually friends and if Hermione didn't have to live in constant fear of saying something to make Francesca suspicious of her. Tom Riddle still watched her whenever they occupied the same room, eyed her like he was hunting her, like he was examining her. It took everything in her not to explode, to pull her wand on him, to demand that he leave her alone, or tell her what he wants, or just to look the other way.

But she did. She stayed quiet. She even cried sometimes, just to keep up appearances. Just because it worked the last time. And it wasn't necessarily difficult to call upon some water works.

Druella still stayed with Francesca and Hermione, although she couldn't imagine why, because she seemed absolutely miserable whenever she was around. Hermione accidentally voiced that once in the Great Hall. Druella stared at her for about forty-five seconds in shocked silence before standing up and leaving.

"That was cruel, Eldora," Said Francesca, and Hermione couldn't understand, because all she had asked was why Druella stayed with them if she was obviously so miserable.

"Is that just the way she is?" Hermione asked, genuinely asked.

"Stop," Francesca pleaded, so Hermione did. She didn't understand Druella, but when she joined them in their next class looking miserable, she didn't comment.

Then, after a week, it stopped.

Francesca became involved with some boy—"I know you're still grieving, Eldora, but I just wondered if it would be okay—he is so lovely"—Druella, now that Francesca wasn't hovering around her, no longer felt the need to trouble herself.

It was unsettling, sometimes, because Voldemort's eyes will followed her in the corridor, and she so often walked alone now. But he made no move to approach her. It was only a matter of time. Eldora had something that he wanted, and sooner or later he would come to collect. Until then, she welcomed his distance.

So she filled her time with research in the most discreet way she could. She researched time travel, soul swapping, and she would research horcruxes if there was absolutely anything in the Hogwarts library about it.

"Perhaps you should have stayed with Tom, he could tell you quite a lot about those, according to you." Eldora teased one day.

Eldora would accompany Hermione for most of the day now. At first it was unnerving, Hermione would often find herself watching her, or wanting to speak to her, constantly reminding herself that she would be staring and talking to nothing. She had finally gotten Voldemort's eye off of her, she did not want to give him reason to notice her again. But in the moments they had alone, Hermione wouldn't waste time.

In her time after death, all Eldora had really learned about Tom Riddle was that he was capable of torturing the people she thought were his friends. She hadn't known about his horcruxes, which led Hermione to believe he didn't know about her's either (and of course he didn't, because if he did he would certainly not be leaving her alone). She also spoke at length of how much she had loved him in life.

"None of it is real," Hermione had offered once in an attempt to comfort her, "the person he portrays, it isn't real."

"I know." Eldora said. And she certainly would learn, as Hermione didn't feel the need to hide anything about him from her, especially not his future as the darkest wizard of all time.

Hermione was careful, however, of the questions she asked. She knew who easy it was to set Eldora off. She had asked her why she had made her horcrux once, and she had disappeared for a week.

She missed her when she was gone, because out of everyone in this castle, she was the only one she could be herself around.

"Do you think you'll figure it out?" Eldora asked once while they were tucked away in the corner of the library. It was nearly curfew, so the place was nearly deserted, and the two of them were hidden away behind a pile of books on the table. "Do you think you can go back?"

Hermione paused in her research. "I'm not sure," She answered honestly, "I want to say I will, but…there's no past cases of this. If we can only find the cause…"

Eldora was very quiet.

"Eldora…if you could just tell me about—"

"You should get going," She interrupted, "Tom will be doing his rounds soon, you don't want him to catch you out after curfew, especially not in the library."

Hermione found that, contrary to her expectations, Eldora was not dumb. She was subject to gossip, even in death, and she was certainly disgusted with the thought of Hermione's blood when she first heard, but she was intensely attentive, and never stumbled over her words. She didn't act like the bumbling blonde Hermione had been led to believe she was—the girl who wouldn't be caught dead in a library.

"Of course," Hermione said, "you're right."

She trailed behind Hermione as she left—she always did. She would hover beside her throughout the corridors and inform Hermione as she spoke to people she didn't know. She would always vanish when Tom was in the room, but otherwise she was ever present at Hermione's side, which was a pleasant change from before. Now, Hermione's day was filled with Eldora's ever present commentary, complaining about Druella's attitude, Francesca's snobbery (Hermione didn't hesitate to point out later that Eldora was equally as snobbish), even Avery's distance.

"He's engaged to me," She said once, "He could at least pretend to love me. Instead he's always disgusted with me."

Hermione couldn't help but agree, but she didn't spend her time wondering about things that were of no relation to getting out of this body. She was starting to miss her own body desperately.

"What did you look like?" Eldora had asked her once, and Hermione had hesitantly explained. "You sound like you looked quite pretty,"

"Oh, no, no," Hermione laughed, "Quite plain."

Eldora pursed her lips but only said, "I've always loved curly hair."

In their time together, Hermione had grown rather attached to Eldora. She had yet to learn much about her father, about her horcrux, or about her attempt to destroy it. Eldora avoided that topic quite fantastically. However, Hermione liked her presence, and she would miss her when she as not around. She attributed it to the fact that Eldora was the only one who she could be unreserved around.

Nonetheless, it made her feel much less alone.

The halls leading to the Slytherin common room were dark and shadowy and always put Hermione on edge. She found she didn't mind the Slytherin common room, and in fact found it to be quite beautiful, but the corridor before the common room was cold and dangerous. She knew it must be after curfew by now, but she was almost there, almost safe inside her—

She heard the sound of footsteps not her own echo through the hall.

"Eldora?" She breathed,

"It's him, I think." She said, "It sounds like his footsteps—Hermione?"

She had dashed toward the wall of the corridor, feeling along the wall in desperation. Her had fell on the knob of what she was certain was a broom cupboard, and opened the door and said "I will not give up weeks of peace to a moment alone with Voldemort,"

Vincent Avery stood inside the cupboard staring at her with wide eyes, and behind him, Nott. She realized after a moment that in her carelessness, she had spoken the name Voldemort, and she could still hear his footsteps echo down the hall. Avery and Nott both stared at her with equal looks of terror, and she was certain her own expression matched. She looked behind her to see Eldora had gone.

Avery locked his arms around her and pulled her in, and Nott locked the door behind her.

—

**WOW. okay. so it's been a very long time and this isn't even a very long chapter. I'm so sorry for the delay, a lot of things have been changing in my life the past year and I've been sort of…dealing with them. I just want to say thank you, so much, to those who have patiently waited and stuck with the story even though it's been nearly a year.I'm hoping to get the other chapter out soon!**

**I love love love love all of you who have still been reviewing and favoriting and stuff, I really do want to finish this story so I'm going to try!**


	7. Chapter 7

The moment Hermione was dragged into that closet she decided two things for certain. The first was that she was not going down without a fight. The second was that she would never speak Voldemort's name so freely again until she was back in her own time.

She whipped her wand out and cast a quick, wordless expelliarmus, catching both their wands in her palm. Immediately after, she cast a silencing spell, and a paralyzing spell in quick succession. They fell to the ground and she waited to hear the tapping footsteps of Tom Riddle walking down the corridor.

What would she do, she thought, if he caught her now? If he heard the commotion and opened the closet door? There was no chance she would be able to subdue him like his cronies—although that seemed a bit too easy to be honest. She held the wand up towards the door and listened to the tap, tap, tap of his shoes on the stone floor.

If he opened the door, she would need to paralyze him first. Her wand hand shook—she had never dueled Voldemort before but from what she had heard he was unmatched by virtually anyone—she willed it to stay steady. The two boys lay in a heap behind her.

The footsteps passed the door.

She hadn't realized how constricted her chest had felt until he passed them. She let out a breath and even a relieved laugh at the silence that followed those footsteps. "Oh Merlin," she muttered, running a hand along the length of her face. She turned her attention to the two boys on the floor.

She should obliviate them, she thought. That was the safest option. Simply obliviate them and they would have no idea she knew Voldemort's true title.

Instead, and she wasn't certain why, she lifted the spells and held her wand steady.

Avery scrambled to his feet first, so quickly and desperately she flinched and nearly hexed him. Nott rose slower, more calm, and watched her with a look she could only describe as wary.

"Eldora," Avery started, "I know what this must look like, but listen before you do anything else."

Hermione's brow furrowed. Was he begging? Why on earth was she begging? He stood in front of her, his legs crouched to meet her eyes, his hands in front of him like some sort of surrender—why were they not attacking her? Certainly, she had his wand, but…begging?

She examined him, looking for an answer to yet another question that had popped up. He was flushed, for some reason—possibly panic, though she still hadn't figured out why. His eyes were wet it seemed, and although he didn't quite look like he was about to cry, they did have that classic look of someone who was on the verge of a breakdown. They were still in their uniforms, the pair of them, although Avery's shirt was…mostly unbuttoned.

Realization dawned on her when she saw the state of their lips.

"Were you two snogging?" She asked.

Nott turned away from her and rested his forehead against the wall, and Avery sputtered before nearing her while saying, "Eldora, this is not—"

"Don't come any closer," She snapped, more out of fear of trickery than anything else. Had they not heard her? When she opened the door and said the name of their leader—the supposedly secret name—had they simply—

It made sense, though, if they were in the middle of something.

It was silent for a long time after she snapped at him. He looked as if his world was caving in, though she couldn't completely understand…

Then again.

It was more than coming out, she realized as she remembered the year. It was still illegal in muggle London for homosexuals to be with who they loved, and certainly wizards were no different. So it made sense, the way Avery was staring at her like his life ended when she opened that door.

"I understand how you must be feeling," Avery said slowly, his voice shaking, "This doesn't change the fact that I love you—"

Hermione shook her head, "I don't care that you love me."

He blanched, and she glanced at Nott behind him who looked ready to throw up. "If you tell anyone," Avery began darkly, and just as she was ready to tell him she had absolutely no intention of telling anyone, he continued, "I'll be force to inform Tom of your knowledge of his pseudonym"

She felt a sort of darkness settle over her at the realization that they had heard, and she glowed at him from the doorway. "Are you threatening me?" She asked.

"I know how you try to avoid him," He said quietly, "Imagine how difficult that would be if I had him seek you out."

She clenched her jaw, "I think you're forgetting who has the wand in this situation."

He did pause for a moment, eying the wand in her hand with apprehension. "Magic won't be necessary," He said, "I only want to know you'll keep this secret—"

"I have absolutely no intention of telling anyone," Hermione snapped, and both boys—even Nott who had been staring determinedly at the floor for a while now—snapped their heads up at her outburst, "I never had any intention of telling anyone, because who you have _sex _with is none of my _business_, but since you seem set on threatening me, perhaps we should make our bargain clear."

Avery swallowed.

"I learned of his title from you," she bluffed, "I overheard you say it in reference to Tom, and I decided not to question it, and still decide not to question it. If you tell Tom that I know and he really is as angry as you think he will be—" and as Hermione knew he would be "—then _you_ will be to blame. You have no leverage, Vincent."

It was all a lie, a terrible, half-spun lie she had made up on the spot to try and deflect blame, to come up with a reason how she could know, to try and dissuade Avery from wanting to tell Tom so that she wasn't relying on a deal that he could break with little to no consequences. Judging by his expression of torment, she was at least mildly convincing.

"I don't care who you _fuck_ Avery," She spat, "Whether its a woman, or a man, or a ghost, or a werewolf—I don't _care_. But do not _threaten_ me, Avery, or I will _destroy you._"

"Alright," Said a new voice, a feminine, familiar voice, and Eldora floated by the closed door, "A bit intense, don't you think?"

Hermione was unable to stop her head from snapping to face Eldora in surprise, but she tried to cover it by whipping her hair out of her face and meeting Avery's eyes again.

"I'm going to my room," she said, "So, know that if you do decide to tell Tom, it will be _you_ who faces the consequences."

It was deadly silent between the three of them, and Eldora spoke up at Hermione's right, "I always wondered why he never wanted to touch me. I suppose it makes sense that he was a homosexual."

"Be quiet," Hermione muttered before she could stop herself, and she noticed Nott furrow his eyebrows as he watched her.

She turned to leave, but hesitated before turning the knob. She turned to face them again, and saw they had already turned to face each other and had almost embraced. She supposed it must have been a bit traumatic the last few moments, wondering if their social lives and their futures were over. They halted when she turned, and watched her with trepidation.

"For what it's worth," She sighed, "and I know it's worth very little, I'm not disgusted like you might believe me to be." Neither changed their expression, "I truly do believe it's none of my business, and I truly have no intention of telling anyone. Who you love is not my business. My opinion of you does not change simply because you love another man."

Still, both boys remained passive, and she wondered if they believed her. Sighing, and deciding she had no need to convince them anyway, she opened the closet door.

"I will tell if you make me feel threatened again, but otherwise have no intention of ruining your lives." She tossed their wands on the ground.

Arms wrapped around her from behind, and for a single terrified moment, she thought they were attacking her. She brandished her wand and jabbed it in his throat, and—it turned out it was Nott with his arms around her—he backed up laughing.

"Whoa, alright love, it was a hug."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, "Please don't touch me," She murmured, and he nodded.

"Right," he said, "Just grateful is all." He gave a dimpled smile. It felt odd, after the tense conversation they had, for him to be grateful, and especially odd for him to hug her. Avery laid a hand on his shoulder, as if he were afraid he would do it again. Avery offered her what she might've expected out of a slytherin, which was a solemn gaze and a silent nod of thanks. Nott—she realized she didn't know his first name—continued to grin at her and even gave her a condescending wave as she began to back away from the two of them.

She should obliviate them, she thought, but she couldn't bring herself to do it, and she didn't know why.

But anyway, they were all hiding something from Riddle now, so in a way, they were on the same side.

—

Hermione's life began to whirl into a confusing, yet oddly settling, blur in the next few weeks. Research into time travel was useless, because the books she found on time travel offered nothing for traveling to the future other than "impossible," and nothing on traveling _back_ to the future other than "deadly." She found, more often than not, she would just be turning the bent locket over and over in her hand, trying to come up with the reason that a horcrux—someone _else's_ horcrux—should bring her through time and into another body.

"Perhaps we're related?" Eldora asked once.

"Impossible," Hermione murmured, and because they were alone at the time, she continued, "I'm muggleborn."

Eldora's nose scrunched up, "Oh, right," She said, "I had forgotten."

Thus far her research had come up with nothing, and she was running out of information in the Hogwarts library, which she hadn't even believed possible.

Avery and Nott were around her more as well, and while she didn't loathe their company, it was a bit strange and irritatingly distracting for them to flock to her side so much. It started with Avery, who resumed walking her to her classes, and he even attempted to portray a more romantic relationship—kissing her on the cheek, holding her hand, very chaste things—until Hermione asked him to stop.

"It's unnecessary," She had said, and he looked relieved to hear it.

Nott was a myriad of emotions, somehow managing to be cheeky and playful while also being dark-minded and suspicious. He liked her, though, regardless of how often she asked him to go away.

She didn't dislike Nott, exactly, because in a way he reminded her of a darker version of Sirius—playful and funny, but with a crueler side that Sirius never had. It's just that the more he hung about her, the more Tom seemed to notice. Avery was nothing out of the ordinary because she was his betrothed, but Nott?

The last thing she needed was Tom Riddle back on her trail, but Nott—Thelonius Nott, she would later learn, and Avery called him Leo—did not want to leave her alone.

"It's invigorating," He told her once, when he cornered her in the library, "Because _you know._ I'm not hiding anything from you. I don't need to worry about you finding out because you already have."

"I still don't understand why you need to be around me _all the time,_" She replied.

"Doesn't he realize how insulting it is for him to be here? Avery cheated on us with him." Eldora was lounging beside her, scoffing at Nott's entire existence as she usually did. She had taken to referring to herself "us," instead of "I," as if she considered them the same now that Hermione was living her life. Hermione would correct her, if she could, and possibly tell her as well that she was cheating on Avery with Tom, and that was public. But instead she cast her a subtle, withering glance and then turned her attention to her book.

It was a useless tome on time travel which only talked about traveling minutes but she was admittedly desperate and reading the entire thing.

"Well," Leo sighed dramatically, "Let the people of Hogwarts assume I'm trying to steal Vincent's girl. Makes for an interesting love triangle."

Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored that, instead opting for simply asking him to leave.

He didn't, of course, so she shoved the useless piece of literature back on the shelf and left the library. She was thankful that he picked up on her foul mood and let her leave.

Eldora hovered behind her, prattling on about Nott as if he were the most frustrating thing at the moment. And perhaps to her he was. But to Hermione he was nothing compared to the realization that she had been here for nearly three months and had found nothing. Dumbledore wouldn't help her, mostly because he was useless, didn't care, and more likely than anything didn't even believe her, and she had no idea who she could go to without putting herself and her future in danger.

"Shut up Eldora!" She snapped once she shut herself in a broom closet in the corridor. Her method when she wished to speak to her ghostly companion was to shut herself away somewhere no one would interrupt—she didn't need rumors that she was mad.

"Alright," Eldora sneered, "Calm down."

Hermione sighed heavily, sliding down the door until she was sitting on the ground. "It's been nearly three months," She said, "And nothing. Not even a vague idea of how I got here other than your blasted locket."

It was quiet in the closet for a time, before Hermione dared to break the silence. She spoke quietly, carefully, "I know you don't know to talk about it…" Eldora was silent, "But I need you to tell me about what happened when you made the horcrux."

She didn't disappear, so Hermione counted that as a positive.

"Is there anything, anything at all that could explain my soul being dragged back here?" She asked, "I found the locket, and something—something that I can't remember—happened and I landed here. Is there anything—"

"No." Eldora interrupted, "Nothing."

Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"Hermione," Eldora said softly, and just the sound of her name being spoken aloud did wonders to soothe her nerves, "I don't like to talk about it…but if there was anything I thought was valuable, I would tell you."

She nodded. "It feel good to hear you say my name." She admitted.

"How so?"

"I just…" She ran her fingers through her hair, a habit she had picked up now that she had straight hair that fell in her face all the time, "I feel like I'm losing myself sometimes. You seem fairly content to join us together as a single person, but I…I feel like I try so hard to assimilate into this life that I'm losing myself. I'm losing my own life."

Eldora obviously didn't know what to say, judging by the way her eyes jumped around the room. "If I could hug you, I would." She said, and Hermione actually laughed lightly at that.

She took the locket out and examined it. It did nothing at all to stare at it so often, but it occupied her mind enough to stop her from going crazy. It felt good to know something for certain—like that this locket brought her here.

"It's nearly winter holiday," Eldora said, "Are you planning on going home? To my home?"

There was something decidedly odd in her tone at that moment. It was hesitant, carefully guarded, and nearly monotone, careful to conceal something in it that Hermione couldn't figure out.

"Of course not," Hermione replied, "I can't leave the library here, it's my best bet at finding—"

"You should go." Eldora said, "My father has books in his library that will never see the Hogwarts shelves."

Hermione was still hesitant, feeling strange at Eldora's sudden direction.

"I was just thinking…if the reason you're here really is linked to a horcrux, then it must be dark magic that brought you here," She said, and Hermione knew she was right, "How likely is it, then, that you'll find the answer here? My father…he might have it."

"You would be willing to do that?" Hermione asked, "Go back to your father?"

She shrugged and gave her a bitter smile, "I don't have much choice." She said.

Hermione wasn't sure what to think.

—

Eldora liked Hermione. A lot.

Growing up with her father left very little room for light, for good, for morality. Her mother had those qualities, but he smothered that light long ago. The only other person she had ever found that in had been Sophia, and she had smothered that herself years ago as well. And then Hermione came, all quick wit, determination, and over-all goodness, and she found she liked her.

There was the issue of blood status, of course, but the more Eldora thought about it, the more it didn't seem to matter—after all, technically Hermione had pure blood at the moment, while she inhabited Eldora's body. It just seemed so irrelevant when dealing with switching bodies.

Or taking bodies.

The fact of the matter was, she enjoyed Hermione's existence. And as her new friend tried to find a way home, it seemed more and more likely that her being here in the first place was Eldora's fault.

It was linked to the horcrux, this they knew, and it happened after she tried to destroy it. So it didn't take a genius to figure out that the events were set in motion by Eldora herself—although they didn't quite know how yet.

She felt guilt about it, and she hated the feeling of guilt. It made her feel sick and angry and she hated it. She wanted to rectify it.

There wasn't any way to undo it, of course. She wasn't as clever as Hermione, or she might try to help her solve the problem. There certainly wasn't anything she could do in the physical realm, considering her ghostly status. She was stuck hovering by Hermione's side, feeling guillty, and having nothing to do about it.

It made her furious when she thought too much about it, because in the end,it all came down to her father. Her ruined her life from the day her mother died onward, ruling over her as he did, obsessing over her as he did, filled with his own twisted desperations that she shouldn't meet the same fate as her mother—and that was his fault as well.

He took the one pure thing left in her life—her mother's locket—and made her defile it. Manipulated her to defile it, to make it dark and wrong, stained with blood, reeking of death.

So, when you thought of it that way, none of it was truly her fault at all. In fact, she was nothing more than a pawn in her father's game. And although his intention surely had never been for Eldora to kill herself and for Hermione to take her place, it had still been set in motion by _him_, not her. Was there a way for her to rectify his mistake?

She knew there was. And sitting in that closet with Hermione—she loved when they had time alone and Hermione could speak with her instead of glaring at her—and watching Hermione, seeing her look so desolate and so lost. It was more than she could take, honestly, and she decided that she had to do it. Not just for Hermione, for the anger she felt on her behalf, but for herself as well.

That was why she offered her father's house. He had books that may help, of course, because she was definitely pulled here by dark magic, and her father downed a plethora of information on that. But she didn't know enough about anything Hermione spoke of—she was never very studious—to really give Hermione advice on what to research.

She just knew she had to get to her fathers house. It was a funny ambition, because she had always planned on getting out of there. It's why she was so desperate to marry Vincent Avery, it's why she pushed away Sophia Rowle, it's why she fell in love with Tom Riddle, because she dreamed and longed for a way out of that dreadful household. And here she was going back.

But she would not be going back a victim this time, she decided. And she didn't know how, and she didn't know exactly when, she didn't know if it would work, but she knew what she would do when she saw him.

She was going to kill her father.

—

**GUESS WHO DIDNT WAIT ANOTHER YEAR TO UPLOAD? i really wanted to try and do longer chapters but i just feel like longer chapters are not my thing and they just stress me out! so I'm just sticking with medium chapters.**

**I'm sorry Tom was not present, and there has been little to no tomione action, but never fear! He will be a little bit in the next chapter, and then he'll kind of disappear again but thEN! ohhohohohooo THEN he will be VERY PRESENT so just you wait.**

**Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed and favorited and followed! It made me so happy to hear from some of you who have reviewed before, and new reviewers! I'm so glad to be updating this again and I'm excited to hear what you think of this chapter :) **

**Please review and let me know what you think!**


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione skipped lunches often. Lunchtime in the Great Hall was always crowded, busy, and always had Tom Riddle in attendance. She was incredibly successful in keeping him off her tail lately by remaining as uninteresting as possible, and she would prefer not to mess that up just yet.

So more often than not, she would find herself either in the library or in her bed. Today was the latter, as Nott had been following her around all day and she desperately needed time outside of Eldora's life. She had been researching, some book on the topic of body switching, but everything in that novel was under the impression that both parties would consent, but as far as she could remember, she had never consented to any of this.

"Are you sure you didn't agree to something? You did say you can't remember," Eldora inquired at her side. They laid in Hermione's bed side by side, the curtains drawn and a silencing charm up to allow for conversation. Hermione eyed her with one eyebrow raised.

"Did you consent to this?" She asked dryly.

Eldora managed a weak laugh, "I suppose not."

Hermione turned her eyes back to the canopy of her bed. A sigh tumbled past her lips. She took solace in the brief calm that settled over her, lying with Eldora as if they could have been friends. She had never been particularly close with any girls, save maybe Ginny, but she hadn't even had much of a chance to get to know her outside of war. It wasn't like Harry and Ron, who she forged a friendship with in the beginning, before any semblance of life outside of war was lost.

But she enjoyed being around Eldora. There was the occasional slip-up of the word "mudblood," that would make Hermione see red, and the fact that Eldora would always laughingly apologize as if it wasn't such a horrid word didn't help. Then there was the fact that Eldora was, in every definition of the word, a snob. She reminded her of Draco Malfoy at times, the way she would turn her nose up at the simplest of things. And Hermione knew with every part of her that, even if they hadn't been separated by time, they would have never gotten along. But, as fate would have it, they were thrust together under the strangest of circumstances. And under these circumstances, Eldora was nothing less than a comfort.

"What do you remember?" Eldora asked quietly at her side. She still conformed to the rules of the physical world, despite being outside of it. She still followed Hermione's posture—sitting when she sat, laying on the bed with her even though she had no need to. She would speak loudly to be heard over a crowd, of course, but in a silent room she would still keep her voice low, even knowing that no one will hear her but Hermione. It must be strange, Hermione thought.

"I remember winning the war." She said, "You-know-who is dead." She still was hesitant to speak his name here.

"Tom?" Eldora clarified.

"No," Hermione said, because in a way it wasn't Tom. Of course, in a way it was as well. But she was careful to separate "Tom," and "Voldemort," where Eldora was concerned. She still loved him, and in a way Hermione wouldn't blame her. From what Hermione could tell, she had only ever been exposed to the intelligent, charming side of Tom Riddle that he allowed the world to see. And while she knew a bit of the darkness that dwelled in him, it was nothing compared to her father—those were her words, and though she refused to elaborate, Hermione could imagine.

If Hermione had been in her shoes, and the love of her life turned out to be a murdering psychopath hell bent on eliminating an entire race of people, she was fairly certain even death couldn't keep her from exacting some sort of retribution. But then, her and Eldora were two very different people.

"I kissed Ron," She continued, "Or he kissed me. Then You-know-who died. Harry was alive. And then…I think we were searching for survivors, and then…I woke here."

"And nothing else?" She asked.

"No." Hermione said again.

"Do you miss them?" Eldora ventured, "Harry and…Ron."

Hermione felt a tremor in her lower lip, so she pulled it between her teeth. "Every day." She admitted.

She felt a cold breeze settle on her hand, and looked down to see Eldora's fingers settled over it. She laid her ghostly palm over Hermione's, slowly, carefully, like she was trying not to pass through.

"Can you feel that?" She asked her.

"A little," Hermione answered, "It's a bit like having an ice pack laid down, but less…concentrated."

Eldora didn't answer, but stared at where their hands joined on the bed.

"Do you feel it?" Hermione asked in return. She shook her head.

"I don't feel anything anymore," She admitted. "It's odd, to exist but…not."

"I can imagine," Hermione said. Their hands were still joined, as much as they could be. "We could fix it." She offered.

Eldora gave her a strange look, like she was shocked at the offer or like she was ready to refuse, so Hermione hurried on. "Once we get this figured out, figure out how to get me back in my body, there must be a way to put you back in yours."

She gave her that same strange look. She examined Hermione's face like she was searching for some sort of lie. And her look of distrust slowly formed into something desperate and sad. She never moved, just continued to stare at her.

"Would you like that?" Hermione pressed.

"I would," She said, but her tone offered pause, like there was a 'but,' coming.

If she was about to refuse, Hermione never found out, because the curtain around her bed was pulled open and Francesca stood there.

"What are you staring at?" She asked, And Hermione turned her attention from Eldora.

"Just lost in thought." She said.

"Fine," Francesca spat, apparently angry with her, "Tom wants to speak with you."

Her hand suddenly felt blisteringly warm, and she didn't have to turn back around to know that Eldora had disappeared. A heavy weight settled in her chest.

"Tom?" Hermione echoed. Francesca rolled her eyes.

"Yes," She said, "He said he would catch you at lunch, but since you're avoiding everyone except Vincent and bloody _Thelonius Nott_, of all people, he had no idea how to find you. I told him I would."

"He asked you to find me?" She clarified, feeling the calm air that settled around her dissipate. "Why?"

Francesca sighed, "I don't know, Eldora, why don't you _ask him_?"

But she didn't want to _ask him_, she almost snapped. Francesca stood towering over her, tapping her foot impatiently as Hermione sat on the bed. Did she have the option to say no, she wondered?

"I don't know if—"

"Eldora," Francesca said suddenly, crouching down to meet her eyes, "He's asking for you."

It was telling, the way she stared imploringly into her eyes and said so resolutely that he was asking for her, as if that was reason enough on its own for Hermione to say yes. It made Hermione wonder, just how far Voldemort's hold on the school was, that even Francesca—the same Francesca who stood on Hermione's side after she publicly humiliated him by slapping him across the face in the Great Hall—would stare at her so imploringly, as if she couldn't bear the thought of Hermione saying no.

She almost did, just as a test, to see if Francesca would be scared. But in the end, she nodded slowly, "I suppose I can meet with him before class," She said robotically, "Where is he?"

Francesca lead her—wordlessly, which made it even worse—down the hall and toward the common room, where Tom stood at the entrance. He smiled brilliantly at her when she entered.

"Eldora," He said, and she realized that was the first time she had ever heard her speak her name—or, Eldora's name, rather. He had always pinned some endearment on her instead.

"Tom," She said, because that was the only title that would have fallen naturally from Eldora's lips. "I've been told you wish to speak with me?"

He nodded, holding out his elbow as Avery always did, and he said, "Shall we take a walk?"

_No_, She cried in her head, but the way he stared at her was equal parts pleasant and premonitory. She decided, if she wanted to erase any suspicions from his mind, now would be the time. But she was so terribly unprepared, and Eldora—as she always was when he appeared—was gone.

She took his arm.

"I hope I'm not being too forward," He started, as they walked down the hall, "But I had expected you to come back after the scene in the Great Hall. When it seemed to me you weren't, I thought I should approach you."

"I don't see why," She couldn't help herself commenting. He glanced at her, like he was barely amused and mostly irritated, but otherwise made no comment.

"It's lovely weather," He said, "Perhaps a walk outside while we chat?"

_So you can lead me to the forbidden forest and leave me for dead? _She thought. It was supposed to be a humorous thought, humorous only because it could very well be true. Humorous, only because if she didn't allow it to be such, it would be too terrifying for her to agree.

"Of course," She said, "Such lovely weather, after all."

He knew she was mocking him, she could tell by the way his right hand settled over hers on his arm, could tell by the way his jaw twitched and his mouth twisted almost imperceptibly before falling into a serene smile once more.

And she knew she was testing her limits, and that she needed to stop. But the little victories made this whole situation seem less intimidating.

Outside, although blisteringly cold, it was sunny. Tom cast a warming charm over them, and they perused the grounds in silence for a time. She distracted herself by watching their feet pass under them, watching their robes flutter about the grass.

"How are you?" He suddenly asked.

"Well," She answered, "And you?"

"Not well, I'm afraid." He stopped them, turning her so that she stood in front of him. "I miss you,"

Hermione understood, for a moment, why Eldora had loved him as she did. The way he stared at her in that moment held no darkness, now cruelty, just a lovely warmth that reminded Hermione so _strongly_ of Harry it almost brought her to tears. How then, could she blame Eldora for loving a monster, when this is what he looked like?

Nevertheless, it seemed the worst monsters where the ones who didn't look like one.

He was waiting for her response, she realized, and because she was currently a product of fear and nerves and disgust at his hands on her arms, all she could come up with to say was "That's a very sweet sentiment, thank you."

His hands smoothed down the length of her arms and he exhaled at the ground. When he turned his head back towards her, his expression didn't hold warmth.

He dropped his warming charm as well, though she had the suspicion he kept it on himself.

He began angling her toward the wall of the castle, until she was leaning against it as he spoke. She only let him because he did it with a tenderness and a familiarity that made her think he had often done this with Eldora. "I worry for you," He said, and he placed one hand on the wall beside her head, "And I wonder at your behavior as of late."

"You wonder?" She asked, refusing to meet his eyes.

"You've been acting strange," He said, "Different." He placed his other hand on the wall as well, caging her in. She felt like she was going to suffocate. "Not yourself."

"Is there something you need, Tom, or have you asked for me just to interrogate me?" She finally asked, trying to emulate the snobby heir of Eldora herself, and still avoiding his eyes, lest he see something he shouldn't.

He didn't speak for a long time, instead keeping her trapped there against the wall. He watched her like every breath was telling him something about her, like the longer he stared the more he knew. And then he smiled at her, tenderly, and her heart pounded in her chest so loudly she wondered he should even be able to hear him over the sound of it.

His hand rested on her cheek, and she let him—she continued to let him, because she didn't know what else she could do—but when she didn't meet his eye, he became rougher. His thumb came to rest on the other cheek, until he had her face in his palm, and he directed her face to look at him.

There was no denying he could feel her heartbeat now.

"And I wonder," He continued, sounding not at all like he was clutching her face in his hand, "at how its all started that night in the bathroom."

She stared at his mouth as he spoke and counted her breaths. She tried to respond, to sound calm and secure and ask why? Why would he say that? She tried to remain clam but he terrified her.

"You intrigue me," He said in response to her silence. "How often you make me believe you're her. But then, every so often, you're different." He leaned over her, returning his hands to either side of her head. He invaded all her senses, until she hesitated to even breathe lest his presence poison her. He lowered his lips within a breath of hers.

"Because if I did this to Eldora, she would panic."

Two things struck her, in half a moment. The first of course, was that she was wrong, that this was not an intimate moment he would share with his lover—because, no, of course she wouldn't know that, and of could Eldora couldn't stick around to tell her that—but an intimidation tactic. And it wasn't until after—after she shoved him away from her for all she was worth and drew her wand on him, after he turned his head to her from where he was, leaned against the wall, and smirked at her like a demon, that she realized the second.

He referred to Eldora as a separate person.

She stood about a foot away from him, her wand still raised, and she felt bloody freezing at the loss of the warmth he had previously suffocated her with—and it wasn't fair that he should be warm, none of this was bloody fair—but he still stared at her with that smirk on his face, like he saw her for everything she was, for a liar and an imposter, and he still didn't find her a threat, just an amusement. A toy.

She felt equal parts scared and offended, and the only thing that kept her from cursing him was the fact that she knew he would curse her back, tenfold.

He took a single step toward her, and stopped.

"Eldora? Tom?" Hermione snapped her head around to see Sophia Rowle making her way toward them. She stared in confoundment as she placed her arms around her and stared at Tom Riddle as if he were some sort of child.

"Is everything alright?" She asked, And Hermione barely found it in her to shake her head. Tom watched her as Sophia tried to usher her around. Hermione couldn't tear her wide-eyed gaze from him.

"I'll see you tonight, Eldora," He said.

It was a warning, Hermione knew, as Sophia quickly pulled her away, casting back glances at the man and bringing her into the castle corridor, warming her hands.

"I'm sorry," She said, running her hands up and down Hermione's arms, "I'm sorry," She said again.

"Why are you sorry?" Hermione asked, watching her carefully, accusation in her tone.

"I just," She shook her head, "I spoke with Tom the other day about you."

"You _what_?" Hermione spat, tearing her arms away from her. She cast a warming charm on herself to banish the chill and ran her hands over her face. Her heart was still pounding and adrenalin caused her hands to shake.

"Just briefly, he mentioned you, and…well the way you've been acting has made me so angry, I just—"

"What did you say?" Hermione demanded, unaware of the volume of her voice.

"Don't yell at me!" Sophia snapped, "After the way you've treated me, abandoning me for Avery, and then for _Tom Riddle_, you don't get to yell at me!"

"What did you tell him?" Hermione repeated, brandishing her wand. Sophia's face screwed up in shocked betrayal.

"I just said that you were acting weird, which you _are,_ and that sometimes it seemed like you didn't even know who you were. I said it seemed like you were an entirely different person."

Hermione let her wand arm fall, turning around and running a shaky hand through her hair.

"I'm sorry," Sophia said, "He said he would speak to you, but I didn't know…I don't know what he did, but if you're so worked up—"

She laid a hand on Hermione's shoulder and Hermione flinched back. "Don't _touch_ me," She spat, "Do you know what you've _done_?"

Panic welled in her throat. Weeks—months—of carefully constructed plans to keep Tom off her back and here he was, cornering her and accusing her of—of what? Impersonating Eldora? And in her panic she didn't even have to sense to try and deny it.

"I was upset," Sophia argued, "The way you've been acting like you don't know me, it…it made me feel like I never even mattered."

"You _don't_." Hermione seethed, and she didn't even mean for it to be hurtful, more like a plea for her to understand, to see that of course she doesn't matter, in the grand scheme of things a girl Hermione hardly even knew did not matter in the slightest. But she knew, after she said it, that it was cruel. Especially by the way Sophia Rowle looked like she might cry.

"I have to go." Hermione said, "I have to…" And she didn't finish her sentence. She rushed down the corridor, kept her wand clutched in her hand like she had weeks before, every sound and every shadow and every ray of light sent her head snapping to the side.

Where was Eldora? Where could she have run to? Fury bounded through Hermione's veins at her absence, because shouldn't she be helping her? Instead of running every time danger reared its head?

A sturdy hand caught her arm and she actually screamed.

"Whoa, love," A voice laughed, "What's got you screaming?" Leo stood behind her, his hand locked around her arm. Had Tom sent him? She thought. But if he had, why would he be so calm? And why…

He had said he'd see her tonight. What had he planned?

"You alright, love?" Nott inquired, tilting his head to the side.

"Yes. No," she said, "I have to…" Her brain was whirling entirely too fast to speak. Her life was close to ending. She needed to…

"To go to class?" He asked. She stared at him like he grew an extra head, and he only laughed.

"No," She said, and tried to pull her arm out, but he dragged her into the classroom. "Nott, I need to,"

"Been missing entirely too much class, love, you need to catch up."

How surreal it was, knowing her life was ending and being forced into a seat for transfiguration as if none of it was happening, none of it was real. By Nott, the annoying but barely endearing boyfriend of her fiancé—of Eldora's fiancé—of—

But it made sense, didn't it? She could imagine him, the devil himself, sat down with all his followers. "Keep an eye on her," He would say, wouldn't he? "Make sure she doesn't escape."

Nott's hand remained on her arm until class started, and she stared at him like she suddenly understood. It didn't matter what secrets she may hold, he was loyal to his cause—to his master. Had he told him then? That she knew of the name Voldemort? Had him and Avery gone straight to their puppet master and told him everything they knew?

She should of obliviated them. She should have ended it right there. But would that change a thing?

It was foolish of her to imagine they thought of her as a friend. Thought of Eldora as a friend. She should have known that if you don't align yourself with Riddle then you're the enemy. She should have known she couldn't just run away.

"Miss Travers?" A voice interrupted, and she saw Dumbledore watching her with a twinkling eye.

"Yes, sir?" She choked.

"Could you join me in my office for a moment before we start?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but instead turned and headed to his office, leaving the door open. She looked around, and noticed in her panic she had missed the introduction to class. The students were starting on the activity for the day. Nott raised his eyebrows up in confusion.

"What does the old coot want?"

She didn't answer, instead raised herself from her desk and walked slowly toward the office. Eldora—the real Eldora, the dead Eldora—stood beside the entry, looking sad and guilty. Did she know what happened?

"A distraction," Hermione murmured, as she passed, "Please."

She shut the door behind her and Dumbledore cast a muffiato.

"It's been a long time since I've heard from you," He commented, "I understand you broke up with—"

"He knows." She choked, uninterested in idle chat. "He knows I'm not her. He figured it out."

"What else does he know?" He asked, unusually calm, and if she wasn't mistaken, possibly even pleased.

"Nothing," She said, "that I know of."

He hummed in thought. "Lemon drop?"

"No, I don't want a bloody lemon drop." Hermione snapped. Her eyes danced around the room, catching the bowl of lemon drops on his desk, examining the shelves of books and shelves of potions amongst all his knickknacks.

Was there any way out of this?

"Perhaps," He said slowly, "This can be a good thing."

Hermione stared at him incredulously, "Good?" She echoed.

"Yes," He said, "If you can regain his trust, then—"

A realization hit her then, bitter and cold. The realization that he wanted Riddle to know, and he wanted her with him. It made sense of course, that in Dumbledore's suspicion he may rejoice at another person agreeing with his aforementioned suspicions of his evil nature. So what good is she other than a spy?

"You want me to spy on him for you?" She spoke lowly, "Be your mole?"

He looked shocked, but that was most likely at her tone. "Miss Granger,"

"Don't call me that as if you believe me," She snapped, and spoke mostly because of her panic, "You only care for me as long as I'm useful in your ridiculous obsession with proving Tom Riddle's guilt. You don't care if I live or die or if I get back home or stay here forever!"

"Miss Granger—"

"Stop calling me that!"

There was a crash outside, and a scream, and Dumbledore stood to attention. "Wait here," He said, and hurried out the door to face the commotion. The door slammed shut on its own and Eldora stood before her.

"I was worried I couldn't do it," She explained, "That's why it took so long, but one of the boys is now floating above—"

"He knows." Hermione interrupted.

"I know." Eldora replied.

Hermione stared at her incredulously, "Were you watching?" She asked, "Watching and doing nothing to help me?"

"You know I can't!" She cried.

"No," Hermione replied, turning to shuffle through the shelves of poisons, "I know you won't."

"Hermione, please—"

"What did I do wrong?" She interrupted, throwing certain vials to the floor to let them shatter and placing other's on Dumbledore's desk, "Besides Sophia's suspicions of me, Riddle was testing me, how did I fail?" Hermione locked the door and warded the room. The commotion continued outside.

"I—I'm claustrophobic, and when he…cornered you against the wall…he did that once to me and I panicked. He never did it again."

Hermione swore and threw one of the vials at the wall.

"What are you doing?" Eldora asked, her voice shaking at Hermione's unraveling sanity.

"What about Nott, Avery? Did they tell him?" Hermione continued, emptying out the bowl of lemon drops on the floor and placing it in front of her.

"I—I don't know, Hermione—"

"And Sophia?" She emptied two of the bottle into the bowl and then rushed to the book shelf. She pulled one out and flipped through.

"We were—we were very close before I became engaged to Avery. We—I—She and I—but…I couldn't, I had to—what are you doing?"

Hermione pushed the book off the desk when she found what she was looking for and searched haphazardly through Dumbledore's drawers until she found one filled with herbs. she pulled a handful of something—Eldora didn't know what—and threw it in the bowl as well. She picked up a muggle pen on Dumbledore's desk and mixed the bowl, and pulled out her wand.

"Hermione!" Eldora shrieked.

"It's poison." She said, "I'm going to take it."

"What?"

"Not to kill myself," Hermione said, "It's virtually undetectable, it will just make me very ill. They'll have to take me to the medical wing."

"but—"

"Once there, you'll need to wake me up. We need to get out of Hogwarts."

"And go where?" Eldora asked, obviously panicked, "to my _father_?"

"We either face Tom tonight or face your father tomorrow, Eldora. Choose!"

Eldora didn't reply, only stared at Hermione with wide eyes.

Hermione tilted the bowl up to her lips and drank the whole mixture. When Dumbledore opened the door to his office she was vomiting up blood amongst all the broken potion bottles.

—

**so here's a new chapter?**

**I don't really know what to say, other than thank you thank you thank you for all of your continued support for they story! I know sometimes I feel like this story isn't worth writing (I'm my own worst critic I guess) and hearing from you guys and hearing that you enjoy it really inspires me to write more and finish it for all of you who review and favorite and follow. so thank you so much for that.**

**I hope you enjoyed the update, please let me know in a review! I'll try to get eh next one out soon, because things are about to get prettyyyy dramatic prettyyy soon so…look forward to that I guess!**

**Thank you!**


	9. Chapter 9

It had been a long time since Tom Riddle had ever felt interested in a person.

Books and artifacts and knowledge, certainly, but never a person. And if someone did strike his fancy it was always fleeting and materialistic—they had something he valued, they knew something he wanted to know, a variety of reasons, all with an equally short life-span.

But Eldora Travers…

Or rather, whomever pretended to be Eldora Travers…

They were something new and—dare he even think it—_exciting._

How flawlessly they had integrated into the personality of the (most likely) late Miss Travers. He had assumed that they had appeared the moment he found them in the girl's lavatory, but it was entirely possible that it had been after (or even before) that event. There were always moments when Eldora (who he was fairly certain was the real Eldora, if she ever existed in his life) would act strange, different. She was plagued by a variety of horrible memories. Her father obviously abused her, the extent of which he never cared to discover.

Perhaps that was the reason it took him so long to realize that this imposter had taken on his pseudo-girlfriend's face. It was a surprise, of course, when she began to abhor his touch instead of revel in it, but not at all out of character. The slap, of course—and a thrill ran through him at the thought—the slap was certainly strange. The slap, the publicity of the act, it was what had originally drew him to her, it was what had aroused his suspicions.

But then they walked into that common room and they looked at him and they cried—reduced to a simpering mess as Francesca molly-coddled them—her—Eldora—the stranger—he had felt so sick with the spectacle that he had lost interest, the mystery and the intrigue was washed away by the tears.

They had cried to deter him. He loathed how efficiently it had worked.

There were whispers, of course. This imposter was by no means perfect. Nott had taken a personal interest in them—in Eldora as he perceived her to be—making time in his day to spend with her.

"She's bloomin' mad" He said once, "Talks to herself when she thinks no one is around."

That, apparently, did not deter him from seeking her out at all hours of the day. He had developed a bit of an infatuation with her as of late. Tom wasn't sure why, he also wasn't sure he cared.

And then of course, Sophia had developed a strong hatred for Eldora. A furious anger had—for some reason—suddenly bubbled so fiercely to the surface that it only took the mention of Eldora's name for her to boil over.

"It's like she's an entirely different person," She had griped, "I don't know who she is anymore. Sometimes she forgets my _name_."

His altercation with the imposter outside the castle was entirely fueled by curiosity. No motive, no real suspicion other than the feeling that maybe, _maybe_ there was _something_.

And so it had been on impulse, that he had caged them against the castle. He examined their face, watched the emotions flicker across before they shuttered them away. And that was what made him realize. They were afraid, oh _Merlin_, they were terrified, he could _smell_ it—but they hid it. They hid it away.

He was, admittedly, a bit enamored with them then. The thought that they had fooled him occurred to him, made him angry, but it was quelled by the fact that—in the end—he won. This was the end, really, and it ended with the imposter crushed beneath his boot.

But, selfishly, he wanted to enjoy it for a while.

So he let Sophia take them away, fooled by their physical appearance—polyjuice potion? altered somehow to make the effects last longer? perhaps something more sinister?—and he left them with the promise that he would see them again. He would end it that night.

Then of course they were _ill._

A gleeful laugh bubbled up in his throat. How terribly _convenient _for them.

Nott, who Tom had asked to keep an eye on Eldora since he was so keen to be around her otherwise, had informed him that upon her extraction from Dumbledore's office, there were potions, herbs, books, and glass littering the floor—along with the blood she had vomited.

It wasn't hard to figure out what they had done, if one was expecting it.

No one was allowed in the hospital wing until they figured out what was wrong. Obviously it was poison, but the professors were unwilling to consider the fact that she had poisoned _herself,_ so that possibility was ignored. It was likely she would be held there all night, if not for the next few days at least. To be certain it wasn't _contagious._

Tom thought about them since he discovered their secret and he could not _stop_.

He wanted to meet them—finally meet them—without the exhausting masks and smoke and mirrors that always came with social interaction. To come together as liars, the two of them, free of pretense and free of restraints, for Tom to pick at them, to discover them—their secrets, their tricks, their plans—

He shut his eyes. He took a deep, calming breath through the nose.

It had certainly been a long time since Tom had been interested in a person. Even longer since he was obsessed with a person.

And he was, perhaps, becoming obsessed with them. What had been genuine interest and intrigue had turned into something much more desperate and sinister when they poisoned themselves.

He smiled.

The sun rose, the birds chattered. Morning had come and he had not slept.

"Tom." Nott called, fidgeting, pulling at his robes.

"What?"

"I checked on Eldora," He announced, and Tom continued to examine him. His feet had not stopped moving, as if he were ready to flee. His looked panicked. "As you asked me to keep an eye on her—"

"What is wrong, Nott?" He demanded.

There was a pause. An uncomfortable silence, only uncomfortable because Tom Riddle had the sinking feeling that—

"She's gone." Nott sputtered, "She's left. No one's sure where she's gone."

Tom found intrigue in how quickly excitement can give way to anger.

—

Hermione was not sure what she was expecting upon arriving at the house Eldora grew up in. But she had certainly not expected it to look quite so…

Beautiful.

She had expected something dark and sinister and scary, but instead she came across this vast mansion with flowers and meticulously cared for gardens filled with rosebushes and daisies—for god's sake they had _doves _flying overhead.

Hermione still felt sick. She hadn't taken into account the fact that the medics wouldn't consider poison—they had treated her symptoms without rooting out the cause, so it still sat in her stomach and made her feel weak and dizzy. the fact that she had made it out was nothing short of a miracle.

But then, she was intimately familiar with all of Hogwarts hidden exits, and was very used to running away.

"I'll need to fool him," She spoke to the ghost girl beside her, "How will I do that?"

Eldora was silent.

Hermione turned to face her friend—she had taken to calling her a friend in the privacy of her mind because it quelled the desperate loneliness that made her stomach ache—and let herself pause for a moment in their quest. She sat on the ground outside the gate of the Travers' house.

"Sit." She offered.

"My legs aren't tired." Eldora refused.

"And they never will be," Hermione reminded her gently, "But that doesn't mean you can't sit with me. Please."

She sat.

"We need some sort of plan," Hermione insisted, "If we're going to use the library, we need him to trust us—me. To trust me. To trust I'm _you._"

Eldora shook her head, "Why? Why waste our time trying to gain his trust?"

"Are we just supposed to turn around and give up? Where do we go, back to Hogwarts?"

"No!" Eldora snapped, "Thats…that's not what I'm saying!"

Hermione watched her for a moment. Watched the way she alternated staring at her hands or staring at the ground. She avoided both Hermione's gaze and the sight of her childhood home. A thought occurred to Hermione, and a weight pulled at her stomach.

"You want to kill him." She surmised. Eldora didn't deny it. "We can't kill him."

"Why not?" She deadpanned.

"Why not?" Hermione echoed, "Why—"

"Exactly how different is he to the madman you killed?" She asked, "Hermione, the things he's done, the things he made me do…"

"Which you still refuse to tell me—"

"I try, but every time I try, I…"

A tense silence fell. Hermione wondered if it was the right decision, fleeing Hogwarts to come here, to the home of the monster. But staying at Hogwarts wasn't any safer with Voldemort sussing out her identity—that is to say, discovering she was a liar. She couldn't have him poking around too much where she was concerned. If he were to learn she had knowledge of the future…

She wasn't sure what would happen. Would the future change? Would she cease to exist? Would she create a paradox that would destroy the universe as she knows it? Would she live on her life in some other world, some parallel universe where everything is different?

There wasn't much knowledge on time travel, especially not of this magnitude. Part of her longed to know. But the more rational side of her kept her in check.

So the monster's den was the only place to be. It was logical, she supposed, to slay the dragon and take its treasures, but certainly unnecessary, and Hermione liked to avoid killing whenever possible. The last thing she wanted to do was march in there and have a show down with a dark wizard—that's exactly what she was fleeing from in Hogwarts.

But what had he done? To warrant death in Eldora's eyes?

"I obliviated my parents," Hermione admitted, in an attempt to level herself with her, "During the war, I erased all their memories of me and sent them to Australia. I didn't ask, I just did it because I believed it was right. And…I…I'm not certain if I can get their memories back."

Eldora regarded her for a moment. "I killed my mother."

Hermione, who had avoided looking at her while she spoke, snapped her head in her direction. For a short moment, she only stared, at a loss for words and too surprised to come up with something quickly. When she found her breath, she asked, "Your horcrux?"

Eldora nodded. Her mouth twisted in an ugly grimace and Hermione guessed that she would be crying if she could.

"Did your father…?"

Eldora shook her head miserably, "He didn't make me. He just made me think that it's what I was supposed to do." She hiccuped, "I remember wanting to do it. I thought it would fix everything…it only made everything worse."

Hermione was at a loss, honestly, of what to say. She felt, for the first time in a short while, hesitation in dealing with Eldora. It had been, after all, Eldora's idea to come here for research. If she had known what had happened here, Hermione would have refused. She would have insisted they find help elsewhere.

She glanced at the beautiful house. They remained just outside the wards, waiting, basking in the tense silence. Hermione supposed she had known Eldora had murdered—of course she had, because she had a horcrux didn't she? But to aim to kill again…

Then again, that wasn't fair. Hermione wanted more than anything to kill Tom Riddle. Killing a monster doesn't make you a monster.

"You regret it?" Hermione finally asked, because it was the only question that seemed to matter.

Eldora didn't answer, but laid her hands over her eyes and buried her face in her knees, effectively hiding herself from Hermione.

"Perhaps you shouldn't be here, when I meet him." Hermione suggested. Eldora didn't move. "We can't kill him."

"Why not?" Eldora moaned, almost like a petulant child.

"Because we can't just kill anyone who wrongs us." She admonished.

"Easy for you to say!" She snapped, turning her eyes to the sky, "You haven't endured it, you—"

"I haven't," She agreed, "But I will not be your vessel for destruction. Or were you planing to kill him on your own?" Silence. "We do this my way, Eldora. I can _fix this_. And after…" She hesitated, "After, you do what you must."

Silence.

—

Whatever Hermione had expected…

It was not this.

Upon entering the wards she was showered with concern from a man who—while certainly older, illustrated by the grey of his hair and the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and on his forehead—was objectively quite good looking and seemingly…friendly.

She knew, of course, that he wasn't. But it was unsettling. The way his hands fluttered around her shoulders felt familiar and warm, and the way he looked down upon her made her feel small and scarce.

He sat her down at a long table, "I got an owl from Hogwarts saying you were gone" He rushed, "I was so worried, thank Merlin you're safe."

He took her coat that she had conjured after leaving Hogwarts and her wand, he snapped at the house elf to bring her food.

Eldora, at Hermione's suggestion and request, had disappeared. Part of her longed for her return, but the other part of her knew what a foolish wish that was. What a disaster that would be.

Hermione had yet to say a single word, and he continued to fluster around her, pacing and rambling, and he kept touching her—his hands on her hair, on her shoulder, on her chair—she felt suffocated already.

Remain calm, she told herself, he doesn't know yet. That's a good sign.

He left the room for a brief, brief moment and she nearly exploded.

How was this a man with evil intent? He acted as her own father would, flustered and worried and panicked, the very image of your everyday concerned parent who just heard his daughter was missing. She knew by now, after meeting Tom Riddle, not to be fooled by pretense. But what pretense could this man possibly hope to hold in his own home?

She was exhausted with all of this bullshit.

The house was exquisitely decorated, in pastels and lace as well. It all felt light and airy and sweet.

She felt sick.

A plate of food was placed in front of her and her "father" walked to the far end of the table and had a seat. He stared her down.

She stared back.

"I need you to eat, darling, I was told you are unwell."

He had calmed now. He acted cooler now that he was sitting still, collected. He took a bite from his food. She was too wary.

"Eldora," He scolded, "Eat."

She didn't want to. She felt flustered and confused—was this him being suspicious or was he concerned? Was he the evil monster Eldora made him out to be or not?

Why could she not see through his act like she could Tom Riddle?

"Please, darling," He pleaded, "I thought you might be dead, it would make me feel better to see you eat and be healthy."

She took a tentative bite.

He smiled.

"I'm so relieved," He rambled as she quietly ate, "I received an owl saying you had become violently ill and then disappeared. Can you imagine what a panic I was in?"

"I can imagine," She affirmed. It was an unnecessary input but she spoke nonetheless. She wrote it off as nerves.

"I thought you must be dead. You were so ill they said, so how could you have gotten far in that condition? Although you seem alright now…"

A pause.

"Are you alright now?" He asked.

"Yes."

Another pause. She slowly ate, deciding upon her words so she could ask to be excused.

He stood suddenly, and fiercely stalked nearer to her. He sat in the chair just next to her now, staring unblinking into her eyes. "Now, Eldora," He began, and she gripped her fork tightly in her hand to stop it shaking, "How did you become ill?"

"I poisoned myself," She blurted, and after a half second realized what she had said. Her brow furrowed, confusion and anger settling onto her features as she realized what she had done. She glanced down at her food, then back at his dumbfounded features.

That_ bastard_ put _veritaserum_ in her_ food_.

"Poison," He echoed foolishly, and Hermione rushed to her feet and tried to flee the room. "Eldora!" He called angrily after her. "Eldora, stop—_Imperio_!"

It was mostly by instinct that she dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way—a knee jerk reaction to hearing any unsavory curse or hex or—in this case and many cases before—an unforgivable.

She turned her wide eyes on Eldora's father, and his expression mirrored her own. Horror and humiliation flooded his face. Had he not done this before? He spoke her name, hesitantly, like she was a frightened animal. Hermione was suddenly acutely aware that she did not have her wand.

She fled the room before he could do anything else. He chased after her.

She found the library mostly by chance, partly because she remember Eldora offhandedly mention its general location in this mansion. His thundering footsteps roared behind her as she threw the double doors shut.

"Eldora!" She begged, "My wand, I—"

"My mother's wand is in here." She appeared beside her, making Hermione jump, leaning against the pounding door.

"Eldora!" Her father scolded, "Don't make me use my wand to open this door!"

"Hurry," Hermione breathed, "Where?"

She led her to the desk by the large window. She gestured to the top drawer and Hermione ripped it open and started on wards around the library. The wand felt strange and temperamental in her grasp, but it did the job. She started frantically pulling books from the shelves and reading their titles.

"What are you doing?" Eldora asked.

"We need to find any books that may help us and then we need to get the hell out of here. He dosed my food with veritaserum."

Eldora nodded resignedly, and it distracted Hermione enough to give her pause.

"Has he done this before?"

Eldora stared resolutely at the door.

Hermione resumed pulling books from the shelves, shrinking the ones she wanted and pocketing them.

"What about the imperious curse, has he done that before?" She demanded, throwing a botany book to the ground and examining a book on necromancy. Eldora remained silent. "Eldora!"

"What does it matter?" She snapped.

"It _does_ matter," Hermione insisted. Mr. Travers pounded on the door.

God, she wanted to tear her hair out. Why could nothing be simple? Why was her life a constant war? One war ends and she starts at the beginning. She escapes one monster and ends up in the clutches of another.

She felt her wards shatter and the doors flew open. Quickly, she hid Eldora's mother's wand between the books on the shelves just behind her. He stormed in, wand raised, until he saw her and he gave pause.

"Wards?" He asked incredulously, "I took your wand."

Hermione didn't respond, but held her empty hands up in front of her before he would ask her where the wand is, lest she be forced to tell him the truth.

He sighed, long and deep and tired, and slowly advanced on her in the small library. His hands settled around her waist, and she gave a start as he searched her for a wand. When he found nothing, he sighed again, leaving his hands where they were on her.

Eldora gave a high pitched whine, like a tortured animal, and disappeared. Hermione felt something dark and forbidding settle into her gut.

"It has been," her father breathed, "A very long day. How about we take a rest and talk this out later? Without veritaserum?" The combination of Eldora's sudden disappearance and the unsettling change in demeanor made Hermione feel sick and nervous and his hands were still on her waist like he had forgotten they were there, burning her skin. An idea occurred to her then, at the thought of his hands on her, a terrible, horrible idea that settled in her subconscious, played like a horror movie in her head and she felt disgusted and terrified and angry at the realization that he could have—_did he?_—that he may have—

She pulled out the wand and pressed it furiously to the underside of his chin and hissed "_Avis"_

He screamed as the birds swarmed him and she fled from the library. Eldora stood in her ghostly form at the start of the stairs that led down to the main hall and the front entrance. Hermione slowed down, pressed herself against the wall. "Eldora…?"

But how could she ask her if her feeling was true? How could you ask someone if the most horrible thought in your mind was the truth or if it was paranoia? But it all made sense now, Eldora's inability to speak about her father, her hesitancy to enter the house, her desire to kill him—why wouldn't she want to? After all he had done?

She paused too long, and suddenly she was pinned against the wall by a spell. Eldora watched her with wide eyes.

"I knew…" He seethed as he came into view, "I knew you weren't her the moment you set foot in this house. The way you looked at me…You're _not her_."

Hermione stared back at Eldora and said nothing.

"What is it?" He snapped, striding toward where Eldora stood. He waved his arms around him like a madman and demanded, "What are you staring at? What the _fuck _are you staring at? _Answer me_!"

"Eldora." She answered, the veritaserum still having its effect.

He stopped, and she could see the muscles in his neck tense. He watched her with wild eyes and said, "Where is she?"

Hermione didn't have a choice but to say, "She's dead."

His face crumpled. He looked, for a moment, like any ordinary human being who lost a loved one. His eyes filled with tears and he let out a half-moan of sorrow and said, "no, no, no" like it would change anything. Hermione hated him, hated that he could feel sad as if he wasn't the cause of all of this, hated how he could pretend to love her when he had done nothing but ruin her as far as Hermione could see. The anger welled up in her throat and rushed to her fingertips, it sped up her heartbeat and twisted her stomach—but as she was pinned to the wall, the anger had nowhere else to go except take up the space in her lungs and make her feel choked by it.

He turned his eyes on her, now, all sorrow and mourning morphing into hatred and anger, at her, as if it were her fault. "And you masquerade as her…" He observed furiously, and raised his wand as if to punish her.

Eldora moved, finally, she lunged, and her image soaked into his.

Hermione immediately felt the spell break and she collapsed against the wall. Eldora's father bent over at the waist, groaning, muscles and tendons tensing, the veins of his forehead popping out, his face turning red. It took her a moment to understand what was going on, but then she realized.

Eldora was possessing him. Or trying to.

Hermione scrambled for her stolen wand, as it had fallen out of her grasp when she had been immobilized. She gripped it in her hand and her magic spun wildly around it, unused to the foreign wand, it sparked and hummed with the ferocity of her anger.

She weighed the options in her head, for a moment. She was never one to act on impulse, and she wouldn't start now. So watching him writhe against the banister overlooking the main hall, Hermione wondered what she should do. Her morale begged for her to show mercy.

She gritted her teeth and the killing curse spilled from her lips.

A combination of her anger and the unfamiliar catalyst in her hands, the spell burst forth with such power that it threw him over the banister and he dropped to the floor beneath with a sickening crack. She rushed to the now shattered banister to see him, sprawled on the wood, blood pooling around him.

"Eldora?" She called, her hands shaking as she backed away from the sight until she was pressed against the wall again. She realized, suddenly, the possible consequences of what she had just done, and not wanting any trace of the spell, she snapped the wand over her knee and threw it to the side.

"Eldora?" She called again, desperately. She ran her hands through her hair that was not her own, she looked at the broken banister, replayed in her head his body flying through it falling over the edge, and God, she had told Eldora they wouldn't kill him and here she was in the aftermath. Where had her friend gone? Why was she disappearing now? It was _safe_, damn it, why was she disappearing _now?_

"_Eldora!"_

—

**Aaaahhhh I feel like I'm always apologizing at these things at the end. I know it's been a while! But here's an update! Hopefully it was at least a little worth the wait…I'll try to get the other one out soon. Next chapter we'll get a bit more of Tom's mind as well~**

**Please review! I'm going to try and actually reply to your reviews now because I'm so terrible at updating the least I can do to show my appreciation is acknowledge your lovely reviews!**

**Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!**


	10. Chapter 10

True to her character, when Hermione was in any way distraught—flustered, angry, scared—she turned to research and books to guide her though her tragedy. Walking into that library—more of a study, now that she looked at it properly, filled to the brim with books and tomes and scrolls but altogether rather small and underwhelming—was a strange and solemn affair without the presence of Eldora hovering always at her side.

Her heart clenched at the remembrance. What had she done? Did she kill her when she killed her father?

"You can't kill a ghost." She murmured to herself—who else would she say it to? She was alone now—and dug her hands into her pockets. She dropped the shrunken books onto the desk, but she didn't have her wand. That was still…downstairs…past the body where she had eaten before.

He still laid in the entryway, blood pooling around his still form and sinking into the floorboards. She hadn't cleaned it up. It didn't seem right to clean it up just yet—it didn't seem necessary. So he laid there, empty eyes staring up at the ceiling and she couldn't close them because that would require stepping into the _blood_.

She wasn't unfamiliar with death. In fact, she considered herself nearly intimately familiar with it. So many people she knew and loved had died, and she had watched them die. She had wished death upon some, and even dealt death to others. It wasn't the fact that he was dead that bothered, her, really, it was the unsurety of all the rest.

Everything she had assumed about the situation was, as she realized, simply that. An assumption. Eldora had never clarified anything other than _she_ had killed _her own_ mother and created _her own _horcrux. Anything regarding her father was left in shadows and hidden behind smoke and mirrors and none of it was sure. None of it was _factual_ it was all based on _assumptions_ that _Hermione_ had made based on _vague_ statements from a ghost—

From a _friend_.

And that was why she had done it, right? Because although at times she hated everything Eldora stood for, she remained her only friend throughout this whole situation, pulled together for some reason through time and space to meet and to collaborate. And so when she was put in this situation, when she met the man who had apparently caused so much pain, she was so desperate to find something evil about him, she was starving for it.

Had she jumped to an incorrect conclusion? Was this man really the devil she believed him to be or was that a farce, an image she created in her mind and replaced him with so she could justify—

But he had drugged her food, she remembered. He had tried to imperio her. He was by no means a good man, and truly, he gave her no choice. She knew that, she _knew, _logically, that while she may not have had to _kill_ him, it certainly made things easier. And she knew—she knew—that making things easier was not a viable motive for murder, but she also _knew _that the world was better off without him.

Perhaps if she was not left with so many questions. Perhaps if Eldora had told her what had happened, upfront and explicit, instead of leading her here under false pretenses of finding information, and then possessing her father and then dying because Hermione jumped the gun and killed him—and she killed _her_, she _killed_ her, she—

"You can't kill a ghost!" She slammed her hands down on the desk and was suddenly aware of the silence in the room. Her mind roared so loud she had forgotten how quiet it was.

She needed her wand.

—

Tom rarely lost. At anything. He was always first in his class. If he ever were to engage in a debate, he would win. If he were to engage in any other battle—be it of wits, strength, cunning—he would always win. It had been that way ever since he discovered magic, ever since he discovered he was something _more_, something_ better_ than those around him.

He _never_ lost.

So what the _fuck_—

He had not expected her to escape. Not while she was under close supervision in the hospital wing, not while the whole school was buzzing about her sudden illness, not while he had already _claimed her_, she couldn't _escape_, not while _he_ required her.

But here he was, alone, the imposter was gone and no one knew where the _bloody hell she was._

He had pumped Slughorn for information immediately (because of course all professors would be informed of their student—or former student, if she was never found) and all he had gotten was that they "contacted her father and he is now looking for her as well" but otherwise they had no information on her whereabouts nor how she had left in the first place.

How fucking incompetent could you—

But he had nodded and frowned and said, "Well I hope they find her, for her sake."

He hoped _he_ found her. Or him. Or them. Whatever or whoever they were, he hoped he found them, hoped he could see the triumph fade from their eyes and give way to terror, hoped he could wrap his hands around their throat, delve into their terror-filled eyes and _rip_ their secrets from them, hoped he could—

He dropped the book he was pointlessly trying to read, let it flop down to the floor at his feet. His hands delved into his hair, mussing it up, ruining his usual aesthetic perfection. His body felt twitchy, he couldn't stop bouncing his legs, he had to bound to his feet and pace the length of his room because he couldn't sit still, he was so _angry_, and so filled with apprehension and rage at being _bested,_ at _losing_.

He picked the book up off the floor just to haul it at the wall and he saw her face, only her face, the imposter's face, everywhere he turned, everything he thought invaded by her image. He wanted to see_ their_ face, wanted to know their secrets, wanted to know how they fooled him, wanted to know how the _hell_ he let them_ get away._

It was such an irrelevant event. Whoever was pretending to be Eldora Travers obviously wanted nothing to do with him, and all he really wanted with them was to _know_ and then they were unnecessary, better off dead but irrelevant either way. And he couldn't understand why they wouldn't leave his head, why this loss clung to him so desperately, why he saw them everywhere, why every time he heard her fucking name he wanted to curse someone, he wanted to _kill_ someone.

He ran his hands through his hair again, let his hands rest against the back of his neck. He dug his nails into his skin until he bled, and he thought of them.

They were _ruining _him.

—

It had been a very long time—she wasn't keeping track, of course, but she had read through forty-two books already, so it was safe to assume it had been a very long time. Sometimes she slept, but mostly a combination of her own panicked state and the nightmares that accompanied her kept her awake.

Nothing mattered, nothing she was reading had anything to do with anything she wanted, but she kept reading, because something _had_ to have the answers.

Her hair was mussed, to the point where it almost reminded her of her hair, of the way her hair was when she was in her own body, before this shit-storm happened. She was so hungry her stomach actually _hurt_, but she couldn't bring herself to go get food, because she would have to walk by that body again, and she was fairly certain it was starting to smell—

She screamed and threw the book she was reading to the ground. It was all _useless_.

She longed for the Hogwarts library instead of this closet filled with that asshole's hobbies—there was hardly anything academic here, all journals filled with ramblings from different and barely known wizards with zero credibility and horrible, terrible, dark ideas. There was nothing factual, nothing informative about her situation in order for her to even try any of their ideas, even if she was desperate. There was nothing here, it was useless, but it was all she had. She felt so angry at her situation, angry at Eldora for a moment for leading them here but her anger was quelled at the remembrance of her death, of the fact that she, herself had—

She wasn't the source, anyway.

Tom Riddle was.

She never hated him more than she did at this moment. She hated Lord Voldemort ultimately more, and Tom Riddle was nowhere near his level yet, so she had always only subtle disliked him, felt afraid for what he could inevitably do with her, with all the things she knew. She feared altering the timeline, she feared how she _knew _he would alter the timeline with reckless abandon of the consequences if he could, if it meant he would win.

Part of her loathed him for his beliefs on blood purity, not only because it was a barbaric and idiotic way of viewing the wizarding world, but because he was so incredibly intelligent otherwise. It infuriated her that someone so brilliant, someone so perfect in every way academically, could honestly, truthfully, whole-heartedly believe that something so irrelevant as blood determined everything. She hated the hypocrisy, his belief that his blood of Slytherin somehow cancels out his muggle blood when _that's not how it bloody works_.

And she hated him because he drove her to this. If he hadn't cornered her, if he had minded his own bloody business—none of this involved him anyway—then she could've remained in Hogwarts, figured this out, Eldora would still be here with her, she wouldn't have—

And it drove her crazy, make her blood boil and made her so angry her stomach hurt—or maybe that was the hunger—she wanted to find that bastard and shove him over that balcony and let him lay with the other monster, let them die together, leave them there to rot behind the wards of this mansion where no one would find them for _years—and oh god, _she wanted it so bad that her stomach ached, she couldn't even think past the pain in her abdomen, it felt like something had reached in and just squeezed until her organs were pulp in its grasp—

Suddenly, furiously, she pulled the hem of her shirt up over her abdomen to find the source of the pain. An ugly yellow—was it a bruise?—stretched across the middle of her otherwise unharmed belly, it turned purple at the sides and then faded back to her natural skin tone. She didn't remember ever being harmed during the battle, not really. Searched, of course but—

She ran her fingers lightly—so lightly she hardly felt it, didn't feel it at all—over the sickly yellow part of her stomach. The skin gave way and she started to bleed—

Her mind spun as she watched the red run down, just two small streams of it where her fingers had dug in accidentally, she wondered at the fragility of her flesh, and with horror in her eyes, she searched through her discarded pile of books and pulled the one on necromancy out and hurriedly began to read.

She panicked.

—

Vincent Avery always hated the Yule ball, but he always hated it less when Eldora was around. Of course they would be expected to go together, being betrothed, but she would always abandon his side to run off with her friends or, in more recent cases, with Tom. It was easy then, no pretending, no anxiety. Just turn up, dance once, and once she leaved, hope Thelonius's date ditches him, too.

This was all so exhausting. Sneaking and hiding and hoping you don't get caught. He tried, in every instance he could, to redirect his passions for the gentler sex, but then Leo would find him and all he had to do was touch him and he was lost again.

He had tried with all of his soul to fall in love with Eldora. But he couldn't. He knew she resented him for it. It's why she sought Tom out in the first place, but it was hard to remember marriage vows when he had Leo pressed against the wall in a broom closet.

And now she was gone—after quite a long time of Avery being certain she had lost her damn mind—and she left wreckage.

He was shocked, completely, by Tom's reaction. While he never saw him fall apart himself, there was something off kilter about him now. His perfectly pleasant facade had faded, in part, and in it's place was some far off tormented look. It actually did good for him, in concern with the girls, because they saw his troubled look and thought heartbreak.

Vincent knew him better.

Tom Riddle was a stone cold son of a bitch who would sooner commit mass murder than ever feel anything other than contempt for anyone. No, the reason for his torment was his pride.

And Vincent understood. Tom Riddle was the most brilliant person he had ever known, and the most beautiful. Everything he put his mind to he succeeded in, he never failed, he never lost, he never made a mistake. Avery was very close to being in love with him if it weren't for the fact that he simultaneously scared the shit out of him ever since he joined the death eaters.

He didn't regret joining, not really. Tom Riddle was a man who would accomplish great—and most likely terrible—things, and Avery wanted to be on the right side of the war. He wouldn't be fighting with the mud bloods and the blood traitors. He would be on the side with power.

It's why he dragged Leo into it as well. Because after falling in love with him he didn't want to lose him. Leo had always been a bleeding heart, for as long as Avery knew him. He could easily be swayed to side with those less than worthy. He wanted to keep him on the side of power.

He wanted to keep _him_.

He could see him across the great hall with his date. Avery had come stag—it was acceptable, since his to-be-wife was missing—so he was left to wait until he could get free of the slag. Tom Riddle came, of course, alone. He always did. He stood with the head girl at the moment, but would likely be begged for a dance sooner or later.

Whatever had come over Eldora as of late, it was bringing about consequences he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with. And Leo had lost his bloody mind since she disappeared, distracted with worry and concern to the point where he couldn't even kiss him anymore without the subject of Eldora being brought up.

He had formed an attachment to her, likely because of her discrepancy regarding their relationship. He kept saying how scared he was for her, how she could be found. He said he hopes she's found.

Avery didn't have the heart to tell him that Tom will kill her if she is. And maybe that's why she ran. Because she knew.

If that was the case, Avery had to give her credit where credit was due. When Voldemort sets his sights on you, its best to run.

—

_Necromancy and Reanimation_

_R. Faeneus_

_Introduction_

_Necromancy is a form of magic involving communicating with those no longer a part of the corporeal realm, and is in no way limited to reanimation, although that is a subject that will be covered in length. The study of necromancy has, in fact, three major categories:_

_ Reanimation: The most commonly known. Subcategories include bodily resurrection _

_ and soul displacement._

_ Communication: Communicating with those beyond the corporeal realm without drawing _

_ them back. Subcategories include trance-state summons and the resurrection stone._

_ Summons: Summoning the spirit into the corporeal realm without linking the spirit to a _

_ body. Subcategories include soul resurrection and seance._

_Unlike Communication and Summons, Reanimation is a practice used solely by necromancers, and no other branches of magic explore these tactics. Reanimation's most common purpose, although it has not yet been successful, is to revive someone who has passed. It is possible, and in fact simple, to reanimate a corpse and control it, much like a puppet and puppeteer. However, the complication comes with the soul. Once the soul has moved on, it is extraordinarily difficult to get it to link to a corporeal form. This is a problem often experienced in Soul displacement._

_Soul Displacement, unlike Resurrection, is used to transport ones soul from Body A to Body B. Rather than attempting to attach a soul back to its original body, or a new body due to obliteration of the first, it is the choice to move to a new vessel. This practice is most commonly used among those attempting immortality. Once Body A has become old and weak, Body B is procured and the soul is transferred to ensure eternal life._

_A common problem with Soul Displacement, however, is a sickness of the body referred to as The Rot. It is a continual rotting of the body even as it contains the soul. The speed and intensity varies from case to case, however, normally it begins with bruising around the internal organs and sensitivity of the skin. Soon, loss of feeling will follow, often loss of appetite and a pale, lifeless look to the face. Practically named, it is as if the body rots like a corpse, even as it continues to live and breathe._

_There has been limited success, however, if the primary body has not died of any cause other than an attempt at soul displacement, that the spell caster can attach their soul back to their original body with the aid of a horcrux, as detailed in Fraus Tormein's published journal, "Ventures of the Soul." There is very little evidence, however, of soul displacement working long term._

_Communications and Summons are more commonly found among the magical realm, and are widely used by a multitude of magic specialists. Dating back to Trans-state Summons, in which one goes into a magic-infused trans in order to speak to those outside the corporeal world, Communicating with spirits is widely attempted. There is also the story of the resurrection stone, detailed in this book. Summons is a bit less common, and much more complicated, calling spirits back into the corporeal realm in Soul resurrections or seances. _

_This book will aptly examine and critique common methods of the different categories of the study of necromancy, and will instruct the correct way to carry-out these established methods. The study of necromancy is in no way complete. It is always being built upon with new discoveries. The soul is something that magic has never been entirely able to control or understand, especially the attachment of the soul to the body. Necromancy is an ever changing, ever growing art. _

—

Hermione turned to the side and threw up.

—

When the winter holiday began, Tom had…a revelation, of sorts.

Eldora remained missing—had been for a couple weeks now. Whatever hold she had on him gradually loosened with her absence. Whoever said absence made the heart grow fonder was obviously drowned in sentiment and weakness, because he found that absence only made him feel like…himself.

The imposter, whoever they may be, had gotten away. That stung more than he liked, of course, but they were irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. They had little sway over his destiny, and held little importance in his dreams for the future.

It didn't change the fact that when he thought about them too long he wanted to rip the room apart, to destroy whoever was closest to him, to hunt them down and drag them back and _win._ It didn't change the fact he still hungered for the knowledge of who they were, of what they wanted.

It was curiosity in its most vicious form. If they ran from him so willingly once cornered, then their purpose obviously had nothing to do with him. And whatever reason they had to take on Eldora's form, it didn't involve him. But he wanted to know. He wanted to know why, but mostly he wanted to know _how_. He craved the knowledge they held over him, thirsted for it.

Avery had noticed. He often did, he had always been perceptive, and he had always been especially attentive to Tom. And to Nott, of course, but Tom was fairly certain that was a different kind of attention. It wouldn't do to let anyone know that this imposter had any effect on him. Power was something easily lost if people questioned your sanity. Stability was equally as important as intimidation, just as charm was equally important as cruelty.

So, sometimes, in the quiet of his room, when he was well and truly alone, he may spare this stranger a thought and he may burn and rage and tear the world apart. But for the moment, while he was a part of the world, he let it lay. He let it fester. He let the thought of them nestle into the back of his mind, settle against his cerebellum and threaten his balance, threaten his stability.

He didn't know why he let it stay there. But what other choice was there?

He couldn't let them go.

—

If Hermione felt sick, it was only because every time she glanced at the blood staining her shirt, she remembered that was the cause of her _internal organs rotting_. Held together by nothing but magic and miracles, not knowing how long it took until the rot killed you—because this bloody book was fucking useless—she felt sick with the unknowing and the panic and the stress.

She read that book three times. The only useful thing she had gotten from it was a potion that was to be used to slow the effects of the rot—though it didn't say by how much—and then it open the whole bloody book talking about how to go about immortality through necromancy.

She didn't want bloody _immortality_.

What she did want was Fraus Tormein's book, _Ventures of the Soul_ (sounded like a fiction novel rather than an academic text) but she had torn that library apart and found nothing.

Well, that's not true. She found seven other texts regarding horcruxes, but not what she was looking for.

If she could guide a soul back to its original body like the book she read had inferred…could she guide her soul back to 1998?

It all sounded too good to be true.

She opened one of the books she had found, choosing it first because it had a page that was dog-eared—by Mr. Travers, no doubt—so she opened it to that section. It talked about making horcruxes of living things, and she wondered if Eldora was his.

"Bastard," She muttered, and dropped the book back on the desk.

Of course, she mused, the book had mentioned the necessity of a horcrux in order to guide her soul back to its original home. Was she willing to do that? Divide her soul? Perhaps she should wait until it was the only option.

"But what if there's a time limit, what if you have to create it soon after you kill someone? You'd have to kill someone again to make one later."

_But this was seriously dark magic. This was unforgivable, more than just casting a quick curse and taking a life, this was using that life you took to destroy yourself._

"This might be the only way to get home."

_You wouldn't just be making a horcrux from his death_, she thought suddenly. _You would be making it from hers. _She started to cry, then, lifting her hands to fist them in her tangled, dirty hair.

"She wanted me to," She whined, "She wanted me to kill him, I just did as she asked!"

_She wanted to live, _her mind taunted her. _You asked her once if she wanted to fix this and she said she did. And then you killed her_.

She threw the book with the dog-eared page across the room. She picked up the next one, and after a pause, picked up the next and the next and her wand and marched to where he lay in the entryway. She paused briefly, sitting on the step with her books and her wand and she just stared.

He tortured Eldora, she remembered. For years. Even if the veritaserum and imperio weren't proof enough, even if that was only a product of his suspicion of her, the way he looked at her in that library…

She shuddered. She stood and tentatively stepped in the blood. She knelt in it, felt it soak into her tights and a moment too late she wondered if she should have taken them off. He had really started to smell. His throat and stomach had started to swell, and when she poked tentatively at his neck and dragged her finger down, the skin gave way and peeled off. She turned to the side and gagged.

She saw something shine around his neck and reached for it. Hanging there was the destroyed locket. She always kept it in the pocket of her robes. He must've found it before they ate. Did its destruction arouse his suspicion, she wondered? She yanked hard at the chain and it gave way easily, but it also dug into the soft skin of his throat and when she did retrieve it, remnants of blood and skin remained on it. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before collecting herself.

Opening the locket she saw the photo of Eldora's mother. She remembered first finding it in the chamber, holding it in her hand, warm and living, inviting. She had hung it around her neck without thinking. Because it just seemed right. It seemed like it was hers.

She lifted her wand and repaired the locket until it shined again, until it was no longer bent and scratched, until it looked just as beautiful and lovely as it did in her memory. Something tugged at her chest, something equally uneasy and comforting. She didn't know what it felt like to own a horcrux. But she could imagine the feeling of the lost part of your soul being with you again _must_ feel warm, it _must_ feel right. It must feel like _yours_.

She gripped her wand tight in her hand and regarded the corpse again. She knew remorse was the only way to heal a murderers soul. Did she feel remorse for him?

She was horrified at her answer.

The actual split of the soul happens at the murder. She read that in a book. Murdering, as opposed to killing which can be done in self defense or on accident, is what tears your soul apart. It made sense, of course, because it had hurt to kill him. Not right away, but afterward. When she faced what she had done and realized that she wasn't sorry, she felt in her gut. She felt panicked and angry and terrified and her heart actually ached at the sight of it.

Now it wasn't so scary. Objectively, she was afraid of what this could mean for her future. She was afraid of what this could do to her psyche. But…she still felt remorse for Eldora. She still loved and missed her friends in 1998 with all her heart and soul, so much it hurt to even think about them, it hurt to even hear their name.

Would it make her mad? Would it make her insane? Would she end up just like the monster she was running from? Or had it already been done, in her past, in her future? Had she found her horcrux in the chamber that day, waiting to be reunited with its creator?

Should she feel like a monster, for what she was about to do?

She looked at the body in front of her, thought of Eldora who suffered at his hands, of Eldora who killed herself to get away from him, Eldora who was most likely his own horcrux, Eldora who felt personally responsible, even in death, to end him.

Is that why she did it, Hermione thought? Did she know? That her existence would allow him to be immortal? Is that why she did it?

She laid the book carefully away from the blood, opened to the spell she needed. When she lifted her wand and recited it, it didn't hurt. Instead she felt suddenly very, very cold and very very dizzy. Her locket—Eldora's locket—burned in her palm so hot she wanted to drop it but her fingers wouldn't unfurl, and so she collapsed into the pool of blood, shivering and empty and angry, watching the corpse beside her spin around and around and around, feeling the locket burn holes through her skin.

When it stopped, she didn't move right away. There was a disconcerting feeling in her chest, like she knew what she did was wrong, like there was something wrong with her very being. She thought of Harry and Ron and felt suddenly, violently sorrowful. Tears ran down her cheeks and she wondered how she could ever face them again, and she wanted to throw the burning locket across the room but instead she kept it clutched in her palm and she cried.

She felt so cold in the shadows of that house, so she desperately stumbled to the door for the sunlight. In the Traver's secluded Mansion, with their wards stretching to their front gate, she stumbled outside into the sunlight without even thinking of witnesses. She felt dizzy and angry and empty and she thought, how could Tom Riddle do it? How could he do this once and crave it again? How could he survive the emptiness of seven horcruxes when she loathed the emptiness of one?

She half expected for it all to unravel, for the horcrux to fade in her hand, but it stayed stubbornly scorching in her palm. And it would for as long as she held it, because the shameful tears that ran down her cheeks and smeared the blood had nothing to do with her actions, but rather the consequences.

It made sense then, how Voldemort was driven to madness. to have this feeling multiplied by seven would drive her mad as well. Would it always feel this strange?

Her horror, however, came from an entirely different source when she saw someone at the gate.

Thelonius Nott.

His eyes trained on her and he sputtered, "Eldora?" He rasped, "Holy shite, Eldo—" And as he took a step forward into the wards, he was thrown back so hard he skidded on the gravel road. He laid there, still and silent, and Hermione watched his quiet body in horror.

He saw her.

He knew where she was.

She couldn't let him go.

—

**I'm sorryyyy this chapters kind of a shit-show, there's a lot going on, a lot of different perspectives, and i kind of crammed like…a month of action into one 5000 word chapter so I hope it doesn't seem too rushed or anything? I just…all this stuff is exposition and character analysis, there's not much dialogue and there's not much going on other than…in everyone's head, so I didn't want to stretch that out into too many chapters lest it drag on.**

**So I put it all in one?**

**I hope it's coming across okay, it's kind of jumpy, I know.**

**We were supposed to get a bit of Nott's point of view, but it just... it didn't flow right? So expect that next chapter for sure! I'm really excited for Avery and Nott to start being a bit more...visible.**

**ANYWAY I'm glad I got another chapter out and didn't take forever. Thank you so so so so much to those who reviewed last chapter! I think I replied to all of them, I'm trying to be more proactive about that, because I really do appreciate you guys so so so so so so so much. Like, I definitely would not be continuing this if it weren't for you guys, your interest is what inspires me, you know? **

**Anyway, I hope this chapter was alright, at least as a buffer to whats to come so you don't have to wait a long long long time. Hopefully I'll get the next one out in similar haste!**

**Anyway, please review! Let me know what you think! I love hearing from you guys so much it really makes my day!**


	11. Chapter 11

Thelonius Nott was not one for useless worry.

There simply wasn't a point to worry. About anything. He never worried about classes, he never worried about money or materials, he never even worried about his sexuality. Once he discovered he wanted men, that was just that. What was the point of worrying, after all?

He didn't believe in it. He disagreed with it. He hated it.

But he was worrying now.

In the short weeks that he actually started speaking to Eldora, he realized she wasn't quite the stuck up little swot he initially assumed she was. She was even funny, in a way that was entirely at her expense. She was focused and determined and easily irritated and readily suspicious of anyone who spoke to her. She acted more like a woman in a prison than a girl in a school.

And he just_ liked _her. He enjoyed her. In a way that would always come out wrong—just self-serving and all around arsehole-like—he found her entertaining. She was a distraction from the everyday frivolities, and being with her was actually, at times, more stressful than being away, simply because she questioned everything and always seemed on the edge of losing her goddamn mind.

But she distracted him. She offered something intense and involved to lose himself in for a moment before he had to return to his mess with Avery and Tom and the Death eaters and a cause he wasn't sure he even gave a single shit about, something he had to refuse to worry about because he _loathed_ to worry.

He thought he would hate her. Well, he had hated her, because every other tiny interaction he had with her was small and meaningless and consisted of her empty smiles or disgusted sneers, depending on the situation. It was the broom closet, honestly, that changed it.

She just didn't give a shit.

It was so refreshing. The only person he had known not to give a shit was his mother, and that was only because he could do no wrong in her eyes and even if he confessed to being a homicidal maniac, he was quite certain she would nod and pat his cheek and tell him what a good boy he is. Eldora, however, she had no attachment to him. Certainly to Avery, but barely. She had more right, in fact, to be angry than anyone else simply because of her relationship with Avery.

But she didn't bloody _care._

That was why he hugged her, like a bloody fool.

(Avery had properly lecture him about that later, but he was always particularly easy to _distract)_

So yes, he was attached. She was the one person with whom he could be himself, whom he had nothing to hide from, whom he didn't have to hide secrets from to be sure he didn't lose Vincent. Because she knew, she _bloody knew_ and she didn't _care_, he didn't have to worry about outing himself and ruining _everything_ and losing—

Anyway, she was gone now.

Hence his worry.

He was hardly able to brush off his apprehension when Tom first asked him to keep an eye on her. When Tom, the scariest son of a bitch he had ever met in his fucking life, the only person he knew who could literally crush you without a second thought and without remorse and without consequence, asked him to keep an eye on Eldora. The girl who didn't care.

Then she fucking poisoned herself.

Then she fucking _disappeared_.

Tom seemed unaffected, at least Leo thought he did. Avery disagreed, but he so rarely divulged any of his understanding of the dark wizard. Avery rarely divulged much of anything, to be honest, but it was something Thelonius accepted. But he certainly didn't miss when, in a moment of tenderness, Thelonius had mumbled he hoped she was found, and Vincent had looked at him with such sorrow and such pity—

Nott wasn't fool. He knew if she was found and Riddle found out, she would die. That was obvious.

But what Avery didn't understand—what he never seemed to understand—was why would Tom need to bloody _know_?

So he made up some bullshit excuse that was obviously a lie that his mother was ill and he wanted to return home for the holiday, and wound up here, on a couch in a house that likely had not been inhabited by anyone without the surname Travers in at least half a century.

He pulled himself up. His whole body was aching. He couldn't quite recall why, but he remembered pain before he blacked out, so he assumed there were wards. He knew there would be—everyone knew of the wards outside the Travers house. But after what he saw…

Gods, she had looked moments away from death.

"Oh good," A masculine voice spoke, muffling the hard consonant in 'good' in something similar to a lisp, "You're awake."

His head snapped to the side to see Mr. Travers at the door. He looked different. In fact, he looked terrible. Not at all the way he had looked in his youth, which is what the rest of the world remembered. Apparently all these years shut away like a hermit had done him no favors.

He was pale, for certain, but that might've always been the case. But he was fat, or not quite fat, but bloated—his stomach and his neck and even his pudgy fingers twitching at his side. He had a tight smile, his eyes were dark, much darker than he would expect from someone otherwise so fair. He wore a turtleneck, a coat, and a hat on his head, as if he were just about to head out.

"Sir," Thelonius spoke at length, "Sir, I came to see your daughter."

There was a stretch of silence. "Is that a joke?" He asked, still standing in the doorway and refusing to come closer. Something smelled putrid in that room and Leo wasn't sure what it was.

"No, sir," He said, wrinkling his nose, "I…I've been worried for her safety—"

"And how do you believe I am feeling?" He snapped, "My daughter is missing and you try to break through my wards and demand to see her? If I knew where she was…" He trailed off. Nott watched him warily. He still did not step into the room.

"I saw her," He insisted, "She was…covered in blood."

He sighed, as if he had been expecting that. "The wards are known to make one hallucinate. It's a tactic to ward people away. Normally they do not run headfirst toward the danger."

Nott nodded, but this all felt so odd. And Mr. Travers almost looked like wax, he noticed. His impossibly dark eyes never looked straight at him.

"I was just leaving," Mr. Travers spoke, "I am pleased to see you awake. It is time for you to leave."

The younger wizard shook his head, not in refusal but in an attempt to clear his rushing thoughts. Everything seemed wrong here. This trip just seemed more and more useless, his search for Eldora seemed more and more useless. He was fed up and angry and—

"_Now_, Mr…" And he paused, but his pause seemed more of careful deliberation than genuine befuddlement. He stared a moment too long. "I do not know your name. No matter." He gestured out the door.

Nott approached carefully, his body aching against the slow movement. As he walked, he watched Eldora's father, standing stiffly by the door with his arm outstretched, gesturing toward the way out. He examined the swell in his cheeks, the yellow undertones of his skin, his black, black eyes.

He paused by the front door. The sun filtered in through the opening, and the warming charms cast on the gardens gave a gentle heat. It cast shadows across the older man's face, shined into his eyes. The pupils didn't shrink, still blown up to cover his iris.

How odd.

He considered him for a moment. And as he considered, he weighed his options in his head. There was something off about him, obviously. Something strange and dark. Something dubious. Did he know where Eldora was? Did he lie, when he said that what Leo saw was only a hallucination?

Did he kill her?

His jaw twitched as he thought, and Travers's eyes flicked to the movement. When he met his eyes again, he gave a single command. "Leave."

Nott considered a moment longer, then admitted, "You're daughter is in danger, sir."

Eldora's father reared back as if slapped, watching him with dark eyes that never seemed to focus on him completely, only stared at him empty and off-putting. Nott didn't give him the chance to respond before he barreled on.

"There is someone looking for her who most likely has nefarious intent. If you know where she is—"

"I said I don't," He insisted, but he sounded breathless, confused, unsure. Leo glared and Travers faltered and said, "I've said my peace. If I knew where she was, she would be home—" He lay a meaty hand on Nott's shoulder and weakly ushered him forward. In a sudden flash of very Gryffindor-like rage, Nott grabbed his arm and flung it off him.

There was a loud snap and Nott's first thought was _I didn't do that, I didn't use that much force_—and Travers's arm hung at his side, caught in his suit jacket, swinging side to side like a pendulum, and he wasn't even in pain, only staring at him in horror—

Leo reached forward, took the loose hand and pulled the arm through the sleeve in what he could only describe as morbid curiosity, intrigue, and disbelief. It fell through sleeve, and hung cold and limp and dry in his hand, it didn't bleed, it didn't—

"What the _fucking—shite_—"

He threw the arm to the side then turned his wide eyes back on the man in front of him. It was suddenly clear to him that the putrid smell wasn't something in the room, it was some_one_. With his remaining arm, the father reached for him, gripped his shoulder and Leo grabbed the lapels of his jacket and _pulled._

They fell, through the door into the sunlight, tumbling onto the grass and rolling once. The hat fell, and Nott could see the matted hair and a sizable portion of hair and flesh missing from his scalp, and Leo, he—he didn't have his wand, all he had were his two arms, and he figured—in a moment he would later regard with morbid humor—that he was at an advantage then. Travers was speaking, saying things like, "Nott" and "stop, calm down," and "listen" but all the boy could think was how did this undead freak know his name?

Nott reached with both hands, straining, and wrapped his fingers around his neck. He dug his fingers in, felt the way the skin caved and he thanked every god there was that the fabric of the turtle neck stopped him from having to feel it without a barrier. Travers's eyes bulged and his mouth hung open and Nott noticed that his tongue was jagged, rough, almost as if it had been cut—

He didn't realize it, but he shouted along with the older man, mostly curses and confused swears and inarticulate yelling. He wedged his leg between them and kicked him off, punched him in the face and the teeth caved immediately, falling out onto his face, and he kicked, he screamed.

"Nott, stop!" Travers begged, and for a moment, he thought he heard—was that…?

He gripped the man by the shoulder—too late he realized it was the missing arm, as he felt the dip where his appendage should be—and one at the back of the head. The hair pulled out immediately, and Nott let out a cry of distress, but with his shoulder, he pushed the large man off of him and to the side.

"Nott!" The man called, and he heard it again, an echo or a trick of sound or a result of his panic, he could swear he heard _her_. But all he could see was the thing calling his name with its toothless mouth, it pleaded with him, eyes bulging, head balding, skin greenish-yellow and swollen, eyes dark and hollow and—

He stood and he stomped down on the head.

"Nott!" It called, its jaw moving, disregarding his heel sinking through flesh and crushing bone, it moved and it writhed and he swore as he brought his heel down again.

Hands settled about his shoulder, and he spun around so fast his heel caught and he fell backwards, over the corpse and sprawled across the soft grass. The sun blinded him for a moment.

"Leo," The voice lamented.

He choked.

"He's already dead," She said softly, and it _was_ her. Not a hallucination, not a vision, but it was her, covered in blood and pale as death and looking down at him with horror and apologies and—

He glanced at the body while she spoke, "Leave him," She said, and the corpse moved its torn, broken, ruined mouth with her.

"Reverse the spell," He choked, and she shook her head helplessly, and he watched as the body mimicked her.

"I don't know how," She admitted, "When you pulled him over, it upset the balance, I can't get him up and I—I—the book doesn't—I didn't read that far yet and I—"

Nott shook his head violently, "Get in!" He barked, thrusting to his full height and all but pushing her to the door, away from the corpse and away from the horror of it all and out of the heat and the brightness and—

He slammed the door shut behind them. She stared at him with wide, wary, sorry eyes.

"What," His voice broke, so he started over, "What the bloody _fuck_ was that?"

"I…" She hesitated, so he snapped.

"What the fuck are you doing using your dead father as a fucking puppet, what the fuck—"

"Don't, _don't_, you don't understand—"

"This is a fucking horror show, I did not sign up for—"

She shoved him, abruptly, against the door and he fell silent when her wand pressed into his throat.

"I should obliviate you." She said, and her eyes flashed so dangerously he was painfully reminded of the very person he was trying to keep her from. He wondered, briefly, if it was worth keeping her away. He wondered if he had to worry.

Of course, he knew he did.

"If…" He cleared his throat, "If this is about Tom, I won't tell him."

Her mouth twisted into an ugly frown, as if she were about to cry. "You might lie." She protested.

"He doesn't know I'm here," He assured, "He…" He paused, watching the way her eyes fled wildly along his face, like she was desperate to see, to read, to understand. Her hand shook, he suddenly realized, nearly as much as he was shaking. So he didn't continue his thought, because she knew already. She had a right to be wary. She had a right to be afraid.

"Did you kill him?" He asked eventually. His question had the desired effect. She looked at him with a mixture of shock and anger and distrust. He followed his question, "What did he do?"

She was so expressive, he mused, like an open book or a bleeding heart. Her brows tipped up in the middle, her mouth twisting in a grimace again, and she stared at him with shock and wonder, as if she hadn't expected that question, as if she hadn't expected his worry, as if—

He tentatively laid a hand over hers and gently lowered her wand.

"He didn't do it to me," She said quietly, desolately. He laid his hand on the side of her head, her hair stained with blood. She didn't cry, but he could see that she wanted to.

He tugged weakly at her elbow to guide her up the stairs. He quietly noted the broken banister, and glanced down at the pristine entryway and wondered at what it might've been before. It took three tries, but he found a bathroom. Gently he led her in, ran the water, and sat down beside her in the downpour. Their clothes formed to their skin, and they watched the red swirl down the drain and disappear.

Neither spoke.

When the water had long run clean, they remained under the spray. Her wand remained clutched in her hand, and he knew she was still deciding what to do with it.

He patiently awaited her decision.

—

When Nott had appeared at the gate Hermione had certainly not expected to be sitting in the library with him. Or the shower, for that matter, but that was over now.

She couldn't read yet, to find the spell to break her connection with her dead father. With Eldora's dead father. She couldn't focus. She just stared at Nott and thought.

He had told her, while she watched him through Mr. Travers's eyes, that she was in danger. That someone was looking for her. She didn't have to ask to know that he meant Riddle. What she couldn't quite understand was why he felt the need to warn someone. What she didn't understand was why Thelonius Nott, someone who as far as she had known was a solid part of Tom Riddle's fanclub, was helping her instead.

She wanted to ask, but she didn't want to interrupt the silence.

He was shocked, she could tell. He was confused, obviously, and he was wary. She supposed he had been through a lot. He fought a corpse. He acted against one of the darkest wizards the world will ever know. She thinks they both deserved the peace and quiet for a moment.

Was it enough, she thought, that he had warned her perceived father? Was that enough to trust him? Was it enough that he hadn't fled to tell Riddle, or attempted to apprehend her? Was it enough that he had, instead, taken her by the arm and let her cleanse herself of it, let her wash away the blood and the dirt and the sweat and the cold and watched it all fade away, disappear down the drain?

She watched him. He watched her, sometimes, too, but right now he stared at the ground.

"He put veritaserum in my food," She declared at last, "He tried to use the Imperius. He…touched me."

His blue eyes lifted from the floor and met hers. He looked dreadfully tired. "Sounds like an arsehole."

And that was that. He accepted it. She killed her father and can't even give an accurate reason and he accepts it. She felt ill at ease with how comfortable those around her were with darkness. With how comfortable she was becoming with darkness. His eyes drifted back to the ground. His foot traced patterns in the dust.

"What will you do?" She asked.

"What will I do?" He echoed, "What about you? I'm not the one in danger of Azkaban."

She flinched, and in response, so did he.

"I'm sorry," He backpedaled, "It was supposed to be a joke."

"In what world would the joke be funny?" She snapped. He nodded.

There was a tense silence.

"I…" He finally said, "Am unlike Avery in many ways. One of the most noteworthy being that…I don't see why Tom needs to know everything."

"He'll find out," She protested. He shrugged. "He'll kill you."

His eyes met hers once more, "He'll kill _you_." He rebutted. She nodded.

He would kill them both.

"I'm dying," She admitted. His eyes met hers in a different way now, filled with confusion and regret and anger. He looked down at his feet. "Shite," he swore, and stood to look out the window.

"Yeah," She agreed, "Shite."

He quietly gazed out the window for a moment. "We need to get rid of the corpse," He said, and she was still confused at why he was helping her. At why he was here. At why he was risking his life and his future to help Eldora Travers, a girl who—as far as Hermione knew—he never spoke to before Hermione inhabited her body.

But she didn't ask. She found the spell to sever the strings between the corpse and her. They buried the body, only because Hermione didn't want the smoke drawing attention if they burned it, and she knew no one would be digging on Travers property for quite some time.

When they were done, they sat in the library again, and Hermione stared at her shaking hands until her eyes hurt and she felt exhausted. Neither of them moved, though, even late into the night.

"I'm not doing this for you," Nott finally spoke. Hermione had barely dozed off at the desk when he spoke, and she jolted in her seat. He didn't notice, or pretended not to. "I want…" He struggled for words, and Hermione wordlessly padded across the library floor and sat beside him on the ground. He stared at his hands, like she had before. He didn't meet her eyes, but she avidly watched his face, watched every twitching muscle.

"I don't give much of a shit about anything," He admitted, "Not Tom, not blood, not money…All I ever wanted was Vincent." His hands buried themselves in his hair and he hid his face from her, "I'm just…I'm not doing any of this for you, Eldora, its for me, this is for me now." He lifted his head again to stare determinedly at the wall in front of him. He didn't so much as glance at her. His adams apple bobbed in his throat, and it became clear to Hermione that he wasn't going to say anything else. Her brow furrowed. She didn't understand, but she didn't need to.

"I…" She started, but the words stuck in her throat. She wanted to tell him. She wanted to trust him. She wanted someone to talk to, someone to divulge information to, someone to bounce ideas off of, someone to be herself around. She had never been a solitary creature. She had always had someone. When she hadn't in her first year, she went crying to a bathroom and nearly got killed by a troll.

Was it too much to wish for that Leo was genuine and true? _He's a Slytherin_, a voice weighed down by years of prejudice and bitterness reminded her. But she longed so desperately for a friend. She was scared and lonely and dying and fuck it if she didn't want to remedy at least one of those feelings.

"I…" She continued, but hesitated, and said instead, "Could you call me Hermione?"

She didn't explain, wouldn't explain, and he gave her the oddest look, but inevitably nodded tersely.

They both stayed awake until the sunlight came streaming in through the window, bathing the peaceful study in soft whites and yellows and warming Hermione's bare toes as it filled the room. She wondered how long until it was all destroyed again.

—

In the silence of the Slytherin common room, two boys sat by the light of the fire. Avery lounged on the couch, so slouched in his seat he was practically falling asleep, while Tom Riddle—ever the image of perfection—sat in one of the arm chairs. One leg was crossed over the other knee, one arm resting on the arm rest and the other running a finger back and forth over his lip. He stared into the light of the fire and thought.

The holiday was coming to an end, and so he was entering into his final semester at Hogwarts. It was bittersweet—mostly bitter—because as he was graduating and supposedly moving on to better things, there was nothing he wanted at the moment than to stay.

Of course in the future there were plenty of things he wanted. Desperately. In simple terms he wanted the world and everything in it, but the complications were _how_. He wanted the world to fear his name, his power, he wanted—finally—to have everyone _know_ that he was superior, that he was_ better._

But he wasn't ready _now._

He was still weak, really. Comparatively, he wasn't, but in the grand scheme of all the knowledge there was in the world and all the power he could wield, he truly was weak. He needed time. Time to study, time to prepare.

They wouldn't let him stay. He was too young to teach and once he was graduated he would never be allowed back. Perhaps when he is older, but will he be ready then? Will he need this place then?

In a purely sentimental way, he would always need Hogwarts. His life was one never ending nightmare of muggles and poverty and anger and loneliness and people looking down on him, looking at him like he is worse than them, like he is a pest or a monster, and Hogwarts was the one place where monster was beginning to seem like something he could be proud of.

Nevertheless, he wasn't one to dwell too long on sentiment. Hogwarts, as all things, was passing. He would move on.

At the moment he would focus on those he called his friends. They would likely be his way into power once he was prepared, his first supporters in whatever path to power he would take. He had to be certain they would be loyal. It wouldn't do, after all, to have to cater to them while he made his preparations. They would need to wait for him.

Avery was not a worry. He was, arguably, the most loyal of any of his associates at Hogwarts, and would most likely follow him to the ends of the earth. Others were younger, still at Hogwarts and still struck with the blissful naivety that the best of their lives was to come and Tom would give it to him—Lord Voldemort would give it to him.

Their strive for blood purity helped. It was an issue that by and large every pureblood was invested in. Tom might not have cared for blood purity so strongly if it weren't for the fact that it was so easy to manipulate. He was, after all, half-blood, but he also had the blood of Slytherin himself run through his veins. And mudbloods, while the lot of them are just as weak and useless and irritating as their stereotypes dictate, are not always so useless. They can be used depending on their intelligence. There is the issue of appealing to the purebloods of course, but nothing a simple renouncing of their blood status and Tom's approval couldn't fix.

But the exceptions were rare, few and far between. After all, when you are raised by muggles there is little you can do but succumb to their lifestyle.

And Tom _hated _muggles.

That made it easier, in fact, to play the blood purists. When his hatred of something was so real, it was easy to believe in. And they did believe in him. He trusted, for most, that would be enough to keep them waiting until he returned.

But then there was Thelonius Nott, of course.

He had always been loyal, for as long as he had been a part of Tom's inner circle, and he always regarded Tom with wide, terrified eyes. Tom had, on more than one occasion, tortured him or his friends for disobeying, and that tends to instill fear. Quite a lot of it in fact. But fear, in and of itself, wasn't enough to rule someone.

Nott cared too much for his friends, cared for them viciously, without apology, and without remorse. He was very Hufflepuff in that way. It hadn't been anything more than an irritant, really, until he befriended _them_.

His hand clenched the arm of the chair so tightly that he accidentally ripped into the suede.

Nott was beside himself when they disappeared. Of course he had to face Tom's anger at losing them, because he as supposed to keep an eye on them, but long after Tom had dealt his punishment he remained in mourning.

He went home for the holidays.

Part of him wondered if he had aided their escape, but as a newly accomplished Legilimens, he saw for himself that it was not the case. He was just as clueless as the rest of them.

But then he went _home_ for the holidays.

He never went home since he met Avery. Tom wasn't daft enough to miss the connection between the two of them, but kept his mouth shut entirely because who his followers had sex with meant very little to him as long as it was not an adversary to their cause. And _every _year Nott would spend Christmas with _Avery_.

Oh, but of course, his _mother_ was sick, and he had to take _care_ of her.

He clenched his jaw. He was looking for Eldora, certainly. Trying to find her before Tom did? Trying to keep her safe? It was all conjecture, of course, but he had seen in his mind, seen the affection he harbored for that girl, though he never cared to check why he was suddenly so entrapped by her. Perhaps he should have. Perhaps then he would have his answers.

"Avery," He suddenly broke the silence. Avery turned his eyes on Tom and waited.

"When Nott returns, I wish to speak with him."

Avery was very quiet for a moment. He stared at Tom with wide, confused, terrified eyes. His fingers twitched where they lay beside him and he licked his lips before answer. "Yes, my Lord." He said.

He knew what it meant.

—

**Hello again! Thank you so much for reading I'm happy that there are so many of you enjoying the story! I hope this chapter pleases you guys! Its kind of gory, a little, I didn't expect this story to ever really delve into the horror side of things, but! I kind of like it tbh.**

**Anyway, thank you so so so so so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter! I cannot express enough gratitude for all of your continued support. **

**I finally put an avatar on my profile, which by default goes with the story, so if anyone was wondering, that is a work of art by Henrietta Harris! She is INSANELY talented, its a part of her work called deconstructed watercolor portraits, and I'm in love. And it looks kind of cool by the story summary, so I like it. If i had any talent in photoshop or whatever I would put something related to the story but alas.**

**Its ok we get cool art for a cover picture.**

**Also, completely unrelated, but I DO have a tumblr now. The link is in my bio, my username is me-ow-mers. I only mention it because I might from time to time post stuff about the story there or when I update, plus cool Harry potter edits and pictures and stuff sO if you want to check that out, go ahead!**

**Thank you again for all of your support, you are all sO lovely and I love hearing from you, so please review! Let me know what you think!**


	12. Chapter 12

Nott stayed with Hermione for the rest of the holiday.

Living with him for those final weeks brought a sense of calm and order to Hermione's constant panicked existence. Her routine hadn't changed much, of course, she would still spend entire days in the library reading, researching, and wouldn't speak much to him. She didn't tell him about the rot, because she knew it would bring on a whole new set of questions she didn't want to answer. But he called her Hermione, per her request, and didn't ask why. He brought her food, sometimes, though she found she had no appetite lately. And when she would fall asleep, hunched over a stack of books at the desk or leaned back in the chair with her neck bent, he would move her to the cushioned arm chair by the window instead and lay a blanket over her.

They became friends, in a way.

It certainly wasn't a friendship on the basis of anything in common—except, perhaps, their hesitance to put themselves in Tom Riddle's presence—but they were something more than acquaintances and friends seemed the most applicable term.

He was useless to talk to. Even if she wanted someone to bounce her ideas off of, he was clueless and confused and asked pointless questions and honestly made Hermione's carefully considered hypotheses seem suddenly vague and confusing. Eldora, for all her reputation, was actually quite bright and able to understand quickly and formulate responses. Leo, while not a complete dunce, would often stare at her blankly for a few moments before asking her to repeat everything she had just said because he had "zoned out."

Even so, he would chat to her about useless things. Often she wouldn't listen, would read instead, but he would still talk. She thinks that's just the way he is, he talks to fill the silence with empty words. But as long as he doesn't expect her to reciprocate, she doesn't mind the company. She doesn't mind the white noise.

Sometimes his presence weighed heavy on her heart. She missed her friends. She missed her home. And Leo would poke fun at her for digging her nose in a book and she would be reminded of those she knew when she had her own body. She was reminded of Eldora sometimes, too, and that hurt even more knowing that she was the one who killed her.

Or made her move on. Either way.

So she studied and researched what she could. It was what she had left Hogwarts for, anyway. She had theories and hypotheses and ideas but nothing concrete. She was missing key sources, she needed that book by Tormein but it was nowhere in this house—she had checked, thoroughly—and she was beginning to wonder if creating that horcrux had been necessary at all. What was the point of it if she couldn't find that book, if she couldn't try the spell or ritual or whatever was detailed inside?

But the rotting of her flesh had slowed, and she considered the horcrux could be aiding in keeping her corporeal form alive. It wouldn't do to be immortal without a body, anyway.

The problem, really, was figuring out how to retrieve her _own_ body. If she found Tormein's journal and wanted to try to reattach her soul to her old body, she would need to get it first. She searched through books on time travel, but as far as she could find one only ever traveled to the past, not the future, and even returning to the future had dire consequences. If she could even just pull something back, that would work but…

In the mean time, she brewed potions to dull the pain, and creams to strengthen her skin so it wouldn't peel off. She had herbs to reduce any swelling that naturally occurs after death. It amused her, in a way, how much she had to do to simply stop her body from following the pattern of the corpse that used to lie in the entryway. Would her arms start falling off, too?

She heaved a weary sigh and turned her eyes from her umpteenth academic novel and let her gaze drift around the dusty room. Never before had she immersed herself so deeply in researching the dark arts, and it was beginning to wear on her. She had researched them during the war, of course, for defense purposes. But this was the first time she had ever researched it for…personal purposes.

In some ways she felt dirty. She knew how Harry and Ron would feel, knowing what she had done and what she planned to do. But in some ways, while it didn't feel right, it didn't feel wrong either. It was the same feeling she had when she left Umbridge to the centaurs. Of course, objectively, she knew it might not be right. But more so, she knew it was deserved.

Was she horrible, now, that she did it for herself, instead of for the good of a community? Was she dark, now that she pursued the dark arts to survive, rather than to save?

The door, which she always shut while she studied, pushed open. It stuck at the bottom, scraped against the wood floor and called her attention. Nott leaned against the doorframe, his gaze flicking from her to the book at the desk, and finally the mountain of discarded books stacks beside her on the ground. He sighed.

"I could try to help, if you told me what's going on." He offered.

"No, you couldn't," She laughed, and it sounded raspy and unpracticed, "You would undoubtedly try, but I think you'd end up brain dead."

He snorted in response, reaching into his shirt pocket and pulling out a cigarette. She eyed it with both distaste and amazement.

"Is that a _muggle_ cigarette?" She asked as he lit it with his wand. He smirked, taking a drag and blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

"Why would I go through a pack of muggle cigarettes when I can use this?" He asked, as if she should know already. She frowned, noting how even as he smoked, the end didn't burn down.

"A magic cigarette," She murmured, "I've never seen one before." And she hadn't, truthfully. Muggle cigarettes remained popular, but among the students of Hogwarts, you would be hard pressed to find anyone smoking, especially when the war started.

"Sure you have," Leo disagreed, taking another drag and allowing the smoke to drift over his lips as he spoke, "You've smoked them before."

She scowled, watching the smoke drift up and catch in the ceiling, which may have been white once but was dirty and grey. It seemed people smoked a lot here.

"Don't smoke that in here," She ordered, "If you're going to ruin your lungs, do it outside."

He narrowed his eyes at her in what may have been suspicion if he didn't roll his eyes immediately after. He took another drag. "Walk with me?"

She glowered at the book on her desk and gave no response.

"Come on," He coaxed, walking over to dog ear the page and close the book, "You have cooped yourself up in here for too long. It's time to enjoy the sunshine and the warmth that your house's charms allow for even in January," He paused, moving the book to the side of the desk and out of her sight. "Hermione." She met his eyes when he said her name, and he watched her imploringly. She wondered if he was feeling lonely, if that was why he bothered her so often.

She agreed, in the end.

She eyed him as he walked beside her, and she was right about the cigarette. He smoked until he was done and tucked the cigarette back in his pocket, still full sized.

"Have you found what you're looking for, then?" He asked as they walked. He closed his eyes against the sun and seemed to glow in contentment. Hermione just felt hot and uncomfortable, her pale, dying skin screaming at the offending heat.

"If I had, I wouldn't still be here." She admitted, and he peered at her curiously.

"You plan to leave, then?" He asked. She hummed in non-response, refusing to answer entirely. He let it drop then, as he often had to when she refused to speak. She wanted to avoid telling him anything she didn't have to. She wanted to avoid the complication that was Tom Riddle, waiting for him back at Hogwarts.

She had asked him once if he could read minds. She knew he could, but she wanted to be sure. Leo had quietly evaded the question, changing the subject as quick as he could manage. She imagined whatever talents Tom had regarding Legilimency, he didn't much care for gentility or subtlety.

"It might be for the best," He admitted after a time, and lost in her thoughts as she was, it took a moment to realize what he meant.

"Because of Tom?" She clarified. He nodded tersely. "I'm not afraid of him," She lied.

"I certainly am," He laughed nervously, reaching in his pocket for his cigarette but deciding against it. "He is vicious and cruel and desperate for power."

"He's a scornful child," She spat, "Obsessed with that which he doesn't deserve. I look forward to the day he is finally, rightfully dead."

He laughed again, less out of nervousness now and mostly out of shock. "If that day ever comes."

"It always does." She promised.

The warmth that enveloped them disappeared in an instant, and the cold winter breeze settled over their bare skin. Leo gave a violent shudder and glanced to the left and right, as if his surroundings would offer him some answer.

"What is…" He began. His teeth chattered and he pulled out his wand to cast a warming charm on the pair of them.

"The wards," Hermione breathed, "They—I think they've been breached, I don't know these wards well but—"

"Breached?" He echoed, "Eldo—Hermione, that could be Tom, we must—let's go back to the house and—"

Hermione pulled out her own wand, ignoring Nott's panic and cast a detection spell to find the source of the disturbance. She waited a moment, after she located it, to see if it moved. When she was certain it wouldn't, she ran toward it.

"Wait!" Leo called form behind her, but she didn't listen. She held her wand firmly in her grip and made her way toward whatever had broken the wards. They were powerful, she knew, certainly not ancient or unbreakable, but powerful nonetheless. She had barely gotten to know them, only that they offered warmth and knocked back anyone who tried to enter. So what could have disturbed them so strongly that they were entirely destroyed?

The need to know overshadowed the need for safety.

Nott stumbled up beside her, cursing and clutching his wand and begging in broken sentences to retreat. "If you want to retreat to the house and cower then I'll allow you, but I would like to catch this person before they catch us," He ambled after her silently, sullenly, and furiously.

They reached the thicker parts of the garden, overgrown with rosebushes and tall shrubs so they could hardly see the ground. Hermione held her wand in front of her, ready for any spell that may come her way. If it was Riddle, and it very well might be, it wasn't likely he would leave much time for conversation. More than likely he would go for torture spells first, get his answers and then leave her for dead. She supposed if he found her now it would be as good a time to leave as any. She wasn't finding any more answers here anyway, she was only biding time.

It was Nott's startled yelp that pulled her from her distracted musings. He stumbled back from the rosebush he had been poking through. "There's someone here!" He called to her, pointing his wand at whoever it was as if they were a monster.

"Who is it?" She asked as she advanced. Based on the lack of spell casting she could only assume the intruder was either nonviolent or unconscious, so she didn't give haste.

"I don't know, I've never met them," He admitted.

"Perhaps someone who knows the Travers, or…" She trailed off, choking so violently on her breath that Nott gave her two solid slaps on the back as if that would help. She could see the expanse of coffee colored skin, the torn shirt and tattered trousers, the rounded cheeks and impossible hair and—

It was _her_. That is to say, herself. Eyes closed and motionless but certainly _breathing_ and alive and—How could she be here, alive, if she was also here dying in Eldora's body?

"Get her inside," She choked, "Get her inside right now."

"Do you know—"

"_Now_, Nott!" She all but roared, and he helped lift her inside the house.

Hermione felt hot and flustered and confused, but she felt excited and ecstatic and more alive than she had in months.

—

They laid her on the couch. Hermione cast a diagnostic spell to see that nothing was wrong, no illness no strange curses, only a spell, a specified version of _stupefy_ that keeps someone in an extended sleep until the caster, or someone else of considerable strength lifts it.

She wore the same clothes as the last day she could remember. She remembered those jeans, the dirty, blood stained shirt she wore on the battlefield. Her hair was a matted mess, tangled and muddy and horrible but—oh god it was _her_, it was her body, it was _here_.

But how? All her questions about how she could possibly get her body back and here it is, lying in front of her with no explanation, no announcement. Simply appearing and shattering the wards in its wake. Someone had sent it back, someone had sent her back to this moment.

Is this how it all started? Is this how it all begun, some unknown stranger whom she can't recall sending her back to today?

"What is the date, Thelonius?" She asked, breathless, and he responded robotically, watching her.

"The first of January," He said.

"January first, 1945," She echoed, committing it to memory. In 1945, her body appeared fresh from a war zone in the Travers's garden. So how did her soul find its way to Eldora's body just over three months ago? She was starting to wonder if she had any control over her situation, or if her whole life was now some predestined path in which any action she may take will only fulfill her destiny. She felt both relieved and trapped at the idea, relieved at the fact that she may not destroy the future, but suffocated and antsy at the idea that she had no control over her situation.

And the question still remained: Who had sent her back?

"Who is it?" Leo finally demanded, seemingly frustrated with her continued silence. She turned her eyes from her own body and fixed her gaze on Nott at her side.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," She admitted.

"More complicated?" He scoffed, "What could be so complicated about a name? Or what she's doing here?"

"Because I don't have all the answers, Nott."

"But you know her," He pressed, "You know her, I can tell." She stared him down and refused to answer, and angrily he pulled his cigarette back out of his pocket and lit it.

"Put that damned thing out," She snapped.

"Oh, am I supposed to smoke it outside? Without the protection of the wards?" He griped, and Hermione angrily stood with her wand and marched toward the door. She set up similar wards to what she had used when she was on the run with Ron and Harry. They didn't offer the same warmth that the Travers's had, but they offered protection just the same. Nott angrily marched past her and stood in the garden, smoking the cigarette and tapping his foot. He was anxious, obviously, and she supposed that must be an aftereffect of the belief that Riddle had found him.

She paced back to where her own body lay on the couch. She was still alive, sleeping and, if Hermione wasn't mistaken, even _dreaming_. Alive and conscious and in her presence, a dangerous combination when considering the repercussions on the timeline if she were to awake, but there were multiple spells to ensure that she wouldn't.

She threaded her fingers through the knotted hair and nearly cried at the feel of it. The familiarity and the comfort of something that belonged to her, something real and tangible from her old life, from her old self. The question now was…how would she get back in her body?

She couldn't do it now, while the soul was still present. She couldn't exactly have two of her souls—or, one and a half—inside her body. No, the soul had to be extracted. And where would it go?

It dawned on her suddenly. "You haven't finished you journey," She murmured, "You have to go back further."

Was she to be the catalyst for all of this? Was she the one who had to bring her body back to September and put herself in the very situation she had been struggling through all this time? Was it her, in the end, who would be the reason for her misery?

It was a possibility, but without a time turner or a time spell it seemed unlikely. Just as it seemed unlikely that she would be able to travel months back in time, sneak into Hogwarts as Eldora with Hermione's body, find Eldora moments after she commits suicide, and then perform ancient necromancy rituals in order to transplant her younger soul into Eldora's younger body, and transport her own soul into the body she had just vacated. Then, of course, she would need to get rid of Eldora's older body, which had been rotting for weeks.

But she was so desperate for this all to start making sense. And while she was still without answers—who sent her back to begin with, why was she sent back to begin with—it left her with fewer questions than any other theory. And, in some ways, it gave her back control.

And it was a way to get her body back. To be Hermione again.

"I can't fucking do this," Nott's voice startled her into reality, made her jump as she whirled around to face him in the doorway.

"What do you mean?" She asked, apprehension settling in her bones.

"I came to find you because…because you're the first person since I fell in love with Avery to know and not give a shit and I thought—I thought you could be a friend, and I didn't want to give that up just because Avery will do fucking _anything_ to satisfy _bloody_ Riddle and his obsessions." He paced in the entryway, his cigarette dangling from his fingers, "I wanted to make a choice in my life that didn't revolve around Avery's love for Riddle, _for once_."

She stayed silent, observing his twitchy movements as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. His fingers were ever moving, twitching and bending like he had lost control of them at his sides. He licked his lips and continued, "But I can't—I can't risk my fucking _life_ for this. I didn't come here expecting a dead father and a body showing up and I—I can't risk my life and my _love—all _for you, not if you don't tell me what the _bloody hell is going on_."

Despite his words and his tone, he never met her eyes. He spoke as if it was a stand off, as if this was an ultimatum—you tell me or I leave—but he acted as if it was _her_ berating _him_. He stared at the ground as if she were the one demanding answers, and she felt so sorry for him standing there looking like he was being reprimanded.

"Please put your cigarette out," She started, and when he let out a distressed noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper, she changed her tone to something gentler, "Leo," She breathed, "Please put out your cigarette and sit down."

He paused, his cigarette balanced between his first and second finger. He slowly pocketed it and, even slower, walked to the arm chair beside the couch where Hermione's body lay. He sat, hesitantly, and watched her with wide, wary eyes.

"There are things that I can't tell you," She began, and his head fell back and his hand rose to cover his eyes in frustrated resignation, so when she continued she spoke harshly and with purpose, "There are things that you cannot know and that is out of my control. It doesn't matter what I say, because when you return to Hogwarts I will have to obliviate you anyway, if Riddle were to know any of this…"

He nodded dejectedly. "You plan to obliviate me?" He asked. She stayed silent, but didn't deny what she had said. "You could've kept quiet about that and done it without me expecting it."

"That's very Slytherin of you." She teased.

"Well,_ you're _Slytherin, aren't you?"

She hesitated, and considered that there may be some things she could tell him. To settle his mind, for a while. "I'm not," She admitted. He met her eyes and looked so hopeful she couldn't stop herself. "I'm Gryffindor, actually."

He didn't respond. Not for lack of trying, he did open and shut his mouth a few times in obvious confusion, but in the end he settled on quietly waiting for her elaboration.

"The girl…it's me. That's what I look like. It's why I asked you to call me Hermione. Eldora died before I ever arrived."

She had focused her attention on her own body now, lying on the couch while she sat on the floor beside it. She laid her fingers tentatively on the wound on her arm, _mudblood,_ labeling her for anyone who would care to know. He could see it, she knew. He could deduce now what she was, and she wondered if he meant it when he said he didn't care for blood. She awaited his reaction.

There was none, really. "Why?" Was all he asked.

She marveled at the contrast between her borrowed flesh, stark white, compared to the considerably dark, almost mocha tone, torn and red from Bellatrix's blade. She didn't respond because she hadn't the answer.

"I should return tomorrow." He finally said. "You may not fear him, but I'm afraid I do…And if you have to obliviate me, I understand." He paused, "Did you know him, when you were you? Did you know me?"

"I didn't know you," She murmured, finally withdrawing her clammy hand from the comforting warmth of the body on the sofa. "I'll leave some memories, but I'll have to erase this conversation and this body. I could make it seem like you tried to bring me to him?"

He shrugged, "I told them my mother was ill. Could you make it seem like that wasn't a lie?"

She pursed her lips, "Do you have a picture of her?" She asked. He shook his head, "I could do it, I would have to…I'll have to read into Legilimency first. If I can read your mind and see her, it'll be easier to create false memories." She paused, "Would that be okay?"

He snorted, "That's the first time I've been asked if reading my mind was okay. Generally that's something people just _do_."

"I don't want to violate you," She assured, "I just…It's for your safety, too. He can't know you stayed here with me."

He nodded.

—

She researched all night. She was already fairly acquainted with legilimency, researching it when she first heard people were capable of it. While she had never been trained in occlumency like Harry had been, she had researched all she could. It wasn't the same, of course, but it helped to at least be informed.

When the time came for him to leave, he sat in the arm chair in the library and she approached him, wand in hand. They didn't speak, but he reached and took her hand that wasn't holding her wand, held it in his grasp and waited.

She rearranged his memories, deleted what was incriminating and laying new memories down to compensate. She deleted herself from his subconscious, and she cried when his hand slipped from hers. When she was done, she stunned him, used her want to call the portkey they had made and laid it in his open hand.

He disappeared. He would wake soon in his own room with different memories and no recollection of her.

It was better this way, anyway.

She picked up Faeneus's book. She had only read through the first section, considering she cared very little with communicating with dead spirits, she had ignored the back section and instead focused on the theories in the first third of the book. Idly, she scanned the remains of the book in hopes of answers, or at least references to books she could actually find.

On the back cover, in curvy, loopy penmanship, was noted;

_For your intellectual pursuits,_

_with love,_

_Robert Mesen_

She pursed her lips. It was risky, most likely, to contact someone who may have been close to Mr. Travers, especially since she had been the one to kill him. But, if they had gifted this book to him, it was possible they might have access to the other that she needed.

Deciding she had no other choice if she wanted answers on how to get back in her own body, she pulled out some parchment and a quill and began her letter.

She signs it from Eldora.

—

Nott awoke and dropped the paperweight in his hand to the ground. His head pounded with a vicious intensity.

He packed his things, kissed his mother goodbye—who gave him an odd look that he chose to ignore—and headed back to Hogwarts.

Everything felt slightly strange and hazy, but with time came clarity, and once he returned to Hogwarts and saw Avery again, everything felt less like a dream and more like reality.

His mother was better now, anyway. And while his search for Eldora had failed…

Well, at least he wouldn't have to decide between befriending her and keeping his life.

—

Hermione searched the place where Nott had found her body three times. She hoped that there might lay some evidence of why she was sent there or of who sent her. A note, a book, an artifact—for Goodrich's sake—a time turner?

She found nothing, but she still checked again.

She awaited a response from her owl, waited day after day after day and nothing came. she didn't give up hope, though. She simply owled again.

Something ferocious and courageous and determined had finally taken hold of her spirit. She felt almost like herself again, and she figured it must be because her own body, her own self, possibly even her own life was at her fingertips. All she needed was that bloody book.

And maybe a time turner.

She owled a third time by the end of the week.

—

When Nott returned, Tom Riddle fury was something to behold.

Their altercation was civil at first. Avery directed him to Riddle, as he had been told, and they sat together in the Slytherin common room, alone. He was nervous, as he often was when alone with Tom.

He read his mind. It was easier than asking for answers. Waiting for someone to articulate an answer to a question was often more irritating than hearing them lie. Listening to people drone on about what they think is important for two-thirds of their speech before finally getting to what really matters is tedious and boring, and especially useless when you can take what you need for yourself.

But when all he saw was Nott tending to his sick mother, Nott looking for Eldora as if he could find her when Tom couldn't, Nott returning home, Nott spending the rest of his miserable existence at home pining over Avery, Nott turning out to be totally and utterly useless when Tom was _sure_ that—

He plundered through his mind with a viciousness and a violence that left Nott shaking and choking, curled up on the couch when Tom stormed out and Avery stormed in.

It didn't matter, he repeated like mantra in his head. They didn't matter.

They didn't matter.

—

Its quite a few months and countless owls until Hermione gets a response. And its curt and its angry and it threatens to send pack of werewolves to the house if she uses the name _Robert_ one more time, and Hermione is helplessly confused because she had _thought_ that was their name.

The next owl she sent didn't address anyone. Just repeated everything she had asked without using their name at all.

—

Its months into the school year and Hogwarts has forgotten about Eldora Travers. Her disappearance is unfortunate, but ultimately ignored. Tom finds comfort in this. Hearing the name has a tendency to drive him a bit mad, and he does prefer to keep his head straight.

Dumbledore calls him into his office one day and asks if he knows where she went. And he looks at him—as he always did—with suspicion. As if he had a hand in this. And Tom, for once, isn't angry that Dumbledore suspects him of killing her.

He's angry that his suspicions are wrong.

—

The next owl Hermione receives calls her all sorts of names, and says _You will not receive a single book from me for as long as you are ignorant. _And she feels so deeply offended for a moment she can't see straight.

Ignorant, she thinks. _Ignorant?_ She had never been called ignorant in her life.

It's only then she turns her attention to the signature at the bottom, notes the tail of the 't' looking suspiciously like an 'a', and then she suddenly understands what she has been doing wrong all this time.

Her next letter is addressed to "Miss Roberta Mesen" and is mainly comprised of apologies and pleads for forgiveness.

—

Tom graduates as arguably the brightest student Hogwarts has ever had. He is turned down for a teaching position, but Dippet enthusiastically insists he reapply in a few years time.

Tom agrees.

Its the beginning of everything, he supposes. The world is his to own. He slides his ring along his finger, back and forth as he thinks on his next move, comforted by the warmth. It is unfortunate, that his age is such a deterrent for teaching when he knows he still over qualifies anyone else who would apply for that position, but Dippet's decision is final. And given that he didn't listen to that fool Dumbledore's advice—yes, Tom knew he advised against it—it was promising for the future.

He justified that Hogwarts was a smart starting point. After all, Hogwarts was where he discovered everything he knew so far, including the location of Ravenclaw's diadem. And to have that much power over all the students that come and go. He could have an army in a year.

But at the same time, it would be…nice to remain there longer. Somewhere that felt like home, or what he believed home was supposed to feel like. From a purely sentimental standpoint, and he didn't linger there long, it was familiar and _warm_.

Until then, he would not be lying dormant. First he would need to visit Albania to retrieve the diadem.

And if by some miracle in his travels, he meets the imposter—who always lingers on his mind, like when you misplace something of value and you can't rest until you find it—he will enjoy the extra treat.

—

The letter Hermione receives is finally—finally—without anger, and offers to meet her to speak. They never confirmed nor denied that they had the book she wanted, but the fact that they wanted to meet her—"The daughter of my dearest friend"—was promising. She would need to be careful, of course. If they truly were a friend of Eldora's father, their character could be questionable, at best.

They arranged to meet in—and this was not Hermione's idea—Knockturn Alley. So Hermione wears bulky, baggy robes and a hood to hide yellow-green shade of her skin and the patchy mess of hair and skin on her head. Her face, while not exactly healthy looking, is not quite as horrifying as the rest of her. Dark bruises settle under her eyes, her cheeks are hollow, her skin ashen, and she has to take a potion every day to reduce the swelling of her tongue, and another to keep her teeth from falling out of her mouth as she speaks.

And she smells. Like death.

But, nonetheless, she drags herself down to that alley after ingesting about ten different potions, with Faeneus's book clutched in her hands.

They meet at a pub near Borgin and Burkes.

The witch she had been writing to is tall and bearded and glamorous. She greets Hermione with a smile and a raspy laugh and tells her if she calls her Robert even once she will curse her.

Hermione smiles shakily and sits beside her. She opens her book and points to the title of Tormein's journal and the older witch smiles.

—

Borgin and Burkes was shady and dishonorable and _perfect_, he decided.

It wasn't exactly honorable work, certainly not like all the ministry jobs he had been offered already. He sneered and placed a cigarette he had taken from Nott between his lips, breathed deep and felt the smoke burn his lungs. He was still planning to visit Albania, first, but when he came back he certainly did not see a future in the ministry. The day he worked in the Ministry would be the same day he declares his undying love and support for Albus Dumbledore.

He leaned against the wall of the shop. It was sunny today, in Knockturn Alley, and it was warm. He took a moment to enjoy it as he smoked.

Muggles were researching if they killed you, he thought as he smoked. But of course that didn't matter much if you were immortal.

—

When Roberta asked Hermione how her father was, her response was rehearsed. When she flat out asked her if he was dead, Hermione wasn't entirely sure what to say.

The woman flipped her wand through her fingers like she was performing a trick and said, "I know that man, and I know his daughter would never be able to reach someone like me without him knowing and without him intervening."

Hermione let her fingers graze her wand at her hip but she didn't draw it yet. "So you assume he is dead?"

Roberta's wand danced across her fingers, and with her other hand she took a drink from whatever she had ordered. Hermione had ordered nothing. "I know him," She repeated, "And you know him, too. Either he's with you or he's dead."

Hermione wrapped her fingers around the handle of her wand, keeping her eyes on the older woman's wand, waiting to see if she turned it on her. She picked her next words very carefully. "Do you truly believe I am capable of ignoring the death of my father?"

She laughed, "I think you might rejoice at it."

Hermione hesitated, "He is your friend." She stated, meaning it to be more of a question.

"Many people are my friends," She rebutted, and her wand halted its movement. She leaned in toward Hermione, and in turn, Hermione tensed and gripped her wand so far she was surprised it didn't snap.

"If my father was alive, I might've known how to refer to you from the very beginning. Yes he is dead." Hermione admitted. Roberta blinked, apparently surprised at the confession, and sat back on her stool. Hermione kept her wand in her hand, ready to duel.

"How did he die?" She asked, resigned.

"Was he truly your friend?" Hermione asked instead of answering, "Do you truly align yourself with manipulators and rapists?"

Roberta flinched. Her gaze darkened. Hermione could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her head. "Manipulators, yes," the older witch said, "Rapists, I try to avoid."

"You fail." Hermione snapped.

They eyed each other, and after a time, Roberta reached inside her robes and pulled out a small, worn, blue book with gold letters on the front

_Fraus Tormein_

_Ventures of the Soul._

Hermione laid a shaky hand over the book, dragging it across the tabletop toward herself and opening it to view the first page. She turned her eyes up to Roberta once more, who watched her intensely.

"Thank you," Hermione breathed.

They departed with a geniality she hadn't expected. Roberta pocketed her wand, laid her hands on Hermione's shoulders and wished her good luck with her studies. She didn't tell her to contact her again, and Hermione hadn't intended to if she could avoid it. While helpful in the end she was terrifyingly perceptive, and Hermione didn't need anyone else perceptive after her.

So with her newly acquired book tucked into the pocket of her robes, and the other held in her hands, she exited the pub into the bright alley, lit by the midday sun. It blinded her for a moment, and she paused outside to get used to the light.

It was crowded, as Knockturn alley often was. The difference between this crowd and the crowd in Daigon Alley was not in number but in the type of people you may find. She pushed through, intent on finding a less crowded area for her to properly disparate and get back to the Travers house to study and sort out her plan.

And as she came through on the opposite side, she turned to eye the man beside Borgin and Burkes. A picturesque, tall, dark haired man with a cigarette dangling between his lips, turning a ring around his finger, and suddenly her heart doubled its speed and her feet slowed without her meaning them to.

In slow motion, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. Something flashed in his eyes, something dark and hungry and horrifying. He turned his body to hers and with slow, languid movements he lifted his hand to pull his cigarette from his lips, and while he kept her pinned under his stare, his lips stretched over his white teeth and he smiled.

He dropped his cigarette, crushed it beneath his foot, and she pulled her wand at the same time he did.

—

**SO FINALLY**

**Tom and Hermione meet again**

**FINALLY**

**I'm sorry I had to stop it there, honestly, but this chapter is already getting very long so I need to pause it and we can FINALLY SEE THEM REUNITE next chapter. Not that the reunion is going to be exactly pleasant, considering, but I'm excited nonetheless.**

**Hope you guys enjoyed it! Thank you so so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter, I've been replying to everyone who replies, so if you have any questions about what's happening, need clarification, you can ask and I'll reply! tbh i wont be telling you want's going to happen, but if you need clarification on anything or want to make a comment ton something I do read them all and I do reply! I love hearing from you guys :)**

**So! Thank you for reading, I hope this chapter was ok! I'm looking forward to the next one when Tom and Hermione are back in contact. I know there's been no romance yet…Romantic stuff will be coming soon! I'm super anxious for it, but I don't want to rush it.**

**Please review! Let me know what you think!**


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione had forgotten, for a moment, that they were to the side of a bustling crowd. She had forgotten, for a moment, that there was anyone but him. He enveloped her senses, challenged them, swallowed up her attention until there was nothing left but him, nothing left but the bitter aftertaste of hatred and violence and every other putrid emotion he inspired in her.

But she didn't run away. She had regained whatever courage had abandoned her before, regained whatever spirit allowed her to face him in her past, allowed her to fight against him unafraid.

And it was different, now. For the obvious reasons; He knew she was a liar, would most likely continue on his tirade to find what she's hiding, and would doubtlessly kill her when—if, she reprimanded herself—he found out. But it was different for him, too. She could read it all over his face.

And that was exactly why it was different. He didn't observe her with a mask as he always had at Hogwarts, but instead devoured her, took in her appearance as a man dying of thirst may look upon an oasis. He allowed himself to express, and that was so strange and so discomforting that it paused the spell that was ready to spill from her lips.

He didn't move toward her at first. Just stared with that disconcerting smile. She realized he had held his breath since he first saw her, because he finally exhaled and the smoke from his cigarette tumbled past his lips. He laughed.

"So we meet again," He intoned.

"How did you know where I was?" She demanded.

"I didn't," He said with gleeful fervor. "And isn't that peculiar? That I don't have to do _anything_ and you still fall into my lap."

His words brought a wave of hysteria. All her consideration of fate and time and the complications of time travel, wondering if everything she did was predetermined, wondering if everything she would do was already decided. At his words, she wondered if she really was destined to meet him. She considered the very real possibility that she was far from done with Tom Riddle.

It prompted her to throw the first spell.

He ducked instead of shielding himself, and her spell hit someone else entirely. They fell to the ground, stunned, and a small group of people now had their entire attention on her.

She put her shield up just as he threw a particularly nasty curse her way. Her shield didn't break, but the force of the spell did push her back towards the alley that she had been heading for in the first place. She went with the movement, backing away from the crowds which were now mostly focused on the pair of them, into the narrow, empty alleyway.

She threw her own nasty curse, and was unsettled to see that he looked _delighted_.

His next spell did shatter her shield, and she had to drop to all fours to avoid the spell he sent immediately thereafter. She cast _avis_, simply to give her enough time to get back on her feet. She barely managed before he threw a slicing hex, and she reared to the left to avoid it. It caught her wrist, and she was momentarily distracted by the fact that she didn't even feel it, just saw the skin split on her wrist, deep enough to hemorrhage but she didn't even _bleed_.

She cast a _Confringo_ with enough force to knock him on his back, but he hadn't even completely fallen to the ground when he cast his curse in return. It hit, and she began to violently vomit, but given that she had hardly eaten in months, it wasn't long before she was reduced to dry heaving uncontrollably. She just managed to reverse the spell when his hand found her throat and forced her against the brick wall. He grabbed her wrist next, and slammed it against the wall with such force she lost control of her fingers and dropped her wand. She thinks he might've broken her wrist, brittle as her bones are. He didn't take notice.

Instead he watched her face avidly, like he would miss something the moment he looked away. "Imposter," He breathed, sounding so contrite that sardonically she questioned in her head if this was a battle or a lover's reunion.

She refused to meet his eye.

He didn't speak for a while, and that weirded her out more than if he started a monologue. He was silent, watching her, taking the moment in, and while she knew he would be angry, she hadn't imagined he would be quite so involved. But he acted like a man possessed. She could still smell the nicotine from his cigarette, she could feel his magic circling her, enveloping her. His hands felt scorching on the skin of her wrist and her throat.

He glanced down at the ground between them. She stared determinedly at his shoulder.

"Necromancy," He commented, and she realized he had been glancing at her book—Faeneus's book which had tumbled to the ground—and had to fight the instinct to meet his eyes in surprise. "Interesting choice—" He commented, and she reeled her knee up as hard as she could between his legs.

He groaned, his grip on her loosening enough for her to lift her good hand and punch him in the throat. She reached down to grab her wand but he kicked it away, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her up before slamming her down on the ground. Her head spun, and he settled above her, one hand wrapped around her throat again and his wand now pressed firmly against the underside of her jaw. With her good hand she scrambled along the cobblestones for her fallen wand.

"Look at me," He demanded, moving his hand to her jaw to force her to face him. She shut her eyes and reached blindly. "Look at me!"

She found the handle of her wand, and pointed it at him and fired a _depulso_ that sent him crashing into the brick wall he had just held her against.

She scrambled to her feet, deciding now was as good a time as any to get the fuck out of there, grabbed her book and prepared to apparate.

And because nothing can go right in Hermione's world, Tom Riddle grabbed her hand just before she apparated. It was rough and shaky and for a moment she was absolutely certain they would splinch, but then they were outside the wards of the Travers home.

"Are you out of your _fucking_ mind?" She spat, pulling away from him. He stared dully at his hand. "You could have gotten us splinched!"

He didn't look up, and after a moment she glanced down and realized with abject horror that he held her hand in his. Detached. He met her eyes and quirked his eyebrow up as if this wasn't the most horrifying thing he had ever seen.

Then again, it probably wasn't.

"Well," He said, and he pocketed her severed hand in his robes and raised his wand, "Shall we continue?"

"You're a sadistic bastard," She spat, blocking his curse and backing away. He advanced on her constantly, and she knew she had to put distance between them if she wanted to get in through the wards without him accompanying her. Even then, though, she wasn't sure how long the wards would hold up. But at least she could get her body and apparate somewhere else before he got in.

"The Travers's house?" He inquired, calm even as he blocked one of her spells, and she was surprised to hear that he was still capable of paying attention to his surroundings when his eyes were so steadily fixed on her. She didn't answer, instead cursed him again.

"An interesting apparition point," He commented, And she hit him with two consecutive jinxes, hitting him with the jelly legs jinx and turning to flee when he fell to the ground. However, he lifted her into the air before she could get far. She waved off the spell with her wand and fell.

On top of him.

He caught her haphazardly around the waist and pinned her to the ground, his wand digging into her breastbone. "Is she dead then?" He asked excitedly, "Did you kill her to procure her body?"

She head butted him.

He reared back, clutching his nose, and as he lifted his wand to fix it, she shoved him hard in the chest to push him off her legs. She didn't succeed, and he gripped the sides of her face with his now bloodied hands and pulled her roughly and suddenly so close that—without thinking, without meaning to—she met his eyes.

He dived in.

She had never been trained in occlumency, so she had no way to be prepared when he violently crashed through her memories. She tried to keep her mind blank but it only reminded her of what she had to hide, and before she knew it she was remembering seeing Eldora for the first time, and then finding the locket in the chamber. She remembered Harry and Ron and she remembered the date of the day she arrived, how terrifying it had felt to hear that she was back in time alone with no understanding of the situation.

She fought it, she tried to put up walls, to think of something else, but he charged through her mind, spreading like fire and burning down any defenses. She couldn't move, look away, she couldn't even close her eyes against the onslaught of his mind. She crowded her thoughts with books, theories, research, but he picked through those and threw them to the side and—

She remembered watching Eldora's father, the green light soak into his chest and strike him so fiercely that he was thrust back. She remembered the way he looked while he shattered the banister and she remembered the sound when his body hit the ground and she remembered the feeling curled up in his blood, her horcrux clutched in her hand.

She pushed and pushed and _pushed _to get away from the memory, and found herself somewhere unfamiliar.

She was alone, now. Outside a homely estate, the summer air filling her senses. It felt peaceful now. She remembered the feel of Tom's hands clutching her head, could still feel them there, haunting her, and she shuddered.

Too late she realized she wasn't free of him yet.

She saw, like scenes in a movie, looking through Tom Riddle's eyes in the presence of those who should have loved him, felt every strange and foreign emotion that he must've felt that day course through her as he watched them die. She saw them beg, too, beg for much longer than he should have let them, she felt him_ relish _in it.

She recalled memories that were not her own. She remembered nights in the orphanage as a child, not yet old enough to understand that he was a monster, curled up against the winter cold and wanting to scream for something but not knowing what for. She remembered how cruel unwanted children can be and wanting to make them feel sorry for it, wanting to make them pay, wanting to make them feel just as sorry and strange as he did.

And she remembered the _magic_. She remembered feeling the power course through her veins and she remembered how white Mrs. Cole's face got when she saw him now, remembered that horrible child Billy and his face when he saw his precious rabbit slaughtered—

Everything started swirling together. She saw herself, not Tom, standing over the corpse of Myrtle, and she saw Tom Riddle dancing with Victor Krum at the Yule Ball. She saw herself flirting with Parkinson and snatching her book when she wasn't looking, she saw herself allowing a snake to wind its way up her arm and nuzzle her neck. She saw Tom battling with Crookshanks over a sweater, and she saw Tom paralyzed by the eyes of the Basilisk.

Everything became hazy and strange and memories were whirling together until nothing made sense. And suddenly he was on the ground, and Hermione was carving _MUDBLOOD_ into his arm and she was laughing and he was screaming—

Then it stopped.

She ripped herself from him, pulling her legs from underneath him and pulling back even as his nails dug into her cheeks and left red welts in their wake. Her legs had fallen asleep, and pins and needles erupted throughout and she couldn't move, could only breathe like she had just run a marathon and watch him warily from where she had collapsed. And he looked every bit as shocked and confused and disoriented as she felt.

She didn't know what he saw. She didn't know what _she_ saw.

She should leave. And she knew she should, she knew that she should go while he was in shock, knew she should flee while she had the chance and take her body and her books and fix this mess, but she needed to understand what happened. Never before in all her research on legilimency had she read anything about memories linking like their had. Was it because she pushed back with legilimency instead of blocking with occlumency? Did it cause a chain reaction, an entanglement of their subconscious and confusion of their memories?

She could still remember the last image, and how fitting it had to be a bastardization of her experience with Bellatrix, carving mudblood into Voldemort's arm. She shuddered at the feeling, at the sound of her laugh. Had he seen that too? Were they linked, in that moment, or had that been entirely in her own head?

Something changed in both his expression and his posture then, and somehow she knew he was remembering that, too. But the way he looked at her was not like a man who had just been tortured. Instead the look he gave her was dark, smoldering, and it sent a heat straight through her and she felt breathless and panicked and—

She ran. She bolted through the wards before he could tag along and she left him slamming against the wards with every ounce of his magic.

She burst through the front door and levitated her body from the couch up to the library and barricaded the door shut, putting extra wards around the room to give her more time. She ripped apart the library shelves and the piles she had sorted through during her months here. She opened a book on time spells.

Time turners weren't the only way to go back. The safest, of course, given the stability of the invention, but Time spells were a possibility.

"This is reckless," She muttered, "This is reckless," And she repeated it like a panicked mantra as she desperately flipped through the book she had read a thousand times in this god forsaken house, and it was bloody hard to flip through a book with one hand.

She needed to get away,and there was only so much running she could do while she was wasting away. She needed to fix this. She wasn't even sure if the book she had received from Roberta had anything of use, but she didn't have _time_ to linger.

She found the page. She laid it by her body and read quickly through the spell. Of course it required blood to activate.

She would deal with that at the end. Certainly she could cut open the palm of her own body and the blood would be enough, even if the body she currently inhabited had none. It was only necessary to activate it, anyway.

She burned a circle into the ground around herself and her body with her wand, settling back beside herself and carving the runes from the book on the floor. Her blood rushed so loudly in her ears she couldn't hear anything else.

"This is reckless," She murmured as she struggled to lift her body's hand with her forearm—since she didn't have a hand to lift it with—and held her wand in the other, ready to slice into the palm. She held it over the appropriate spot and sliced.

Nothing happened. She swore when she noticed the protective spells to prevent harm to the body.

The door slammed open. She already knew who was there, but her head snapped up to see him anyway. He held her severed hand in his, and when he observed her position on the floor, he smiled a cruel smile and threw her hand at her while he stepped in the circle.

"Let's go on a trip, shall we?" He asked.

He sliced his palm, and she reacted too late, lunging for him as his blood slid off his alabaster skin and onto the ground to activate the spell.

It was a bit like apparition, in the end, not the smooth transition she had expected like it was with a time turner. Instead it was violent and shaky and she worried it would go horrible wrong.

Well, it did, if the man she landed on was any proof.

The landing was so jostling that it took her a moment to figure out what was happening. She lifted her hazy head, glanced around herself at the large field, and dug her fingers into the ground.

There was a groan, and when she looked down she saw it wasn't the ground but a rather discombobulated Tom Riddle moaning underneath her.

She scrambled off, and he didn't stop her. Instead her sat up and glanced around them as well, before settling his eyes on her.

"How far back?" He asked, and she glared at him more fiercely than she ever had before. How did he know, she wondered? How could he have known, after a moment's glance at her on the library floor, that she was attempting to flee back in time? How could he see her next to what looks like a dead body and have his first instinct be to finish the bloody spell?

But all she managed was to squawk "How?" Like a fool.

"Don't play daft," He scolded, "You know what happened between us."

He was referring to the moment when he tried to read her mind outside the house. "I don't know what you saw," She deflected, and he exhaled like she had punched him and breathed—

"Everything."

Terror seized her throat, seized her heart, seized everything and made her feel scarcely alive. She didn't want to think about what happened outside the Travers's house, she didn't want to think about how intimately she had known him then, how strange and surreal it had felt to be two people at once. She felt furious with him for ruining what would have otherwise been the perfect escape plan, she hated him for everything he was and everything he would be and she wished she wasn't bound to her own bloody timeline or she would kill him, right where he sat, right were he was while he stared at her like she was an algorithm he was struggling to solve.

She moved to stand up but he pulled her towards him instead, got in her face in what was no doubt an attempt to intimidate her.

"Don't be afraid," He said, and his hands felt like fire on her lifeless skin, "I feel it too."

She violently pushed him away, hard enough that he fell back and his head bounced once on the soft grassy floor.

She stood, turned to her body which had been thrown several meters away. She rushed to it, tried to lift it but her feeble, dying body collapsed under the weight. He came up behind her, lifted the weight from her and and snapped, "Put me down!" And pulled her wand on him.

He halted, but didn't lower the body to the ground. "Do you want to duel again?" He asked.

She didn't, but she was furious, too angry to think straight, and she was seriously considering cursing him within an inch of his life and then leaving him here, consequences be damned. But she worried what he may do now that he was in the past. He may not adhere to her strict obedience to the rules of time travel. He may change something if she wasn't here to stop him.

He may change everything, now that he knows.

"You _want_ to kill me," He pressed, still cradling her body in his arms like precious cargo, "Why don't you try?"

He knew why she didn't dare. But she was tempted, beyond tempted to do it anyway. It might be best if she did, now that he knew everything. It might be safest for the world if she did. But then what would be the difference between Tom Riddle reshaping his future and Hermione Granger ending it? Could she obliviate him? Were there any after-effects to what had happened with them that would stand in the way of that option?

There were so many questions and she didn't know what to do. She needed to buy some time.

"We need to find out where we are, and the date. We shouldn't have gone back more than a year." She bit out, not lowering her wand.

"We need place for your body," He said, and it infuriated her that he knew who it was he held, that he knew anything at all.

She nodded once. "We could find an inn," He took a step, quirked an eyebrow when he noticed her wand following his movement, and then continued walking forward. She fell in step beside him.

She remembered how it felt to carve into his arm in her mind and she held onto that for the time being.

—

It was July of 1944, a year before where they once were, and two months before where she needed to be. They were in Iceland—time spells were unlike time-turners in that way, you could end up anywhere. First thing they did was check out a room in a local inn—Tom transfigured fake currency and they left the body there while they went to the cafe attached.

He sat across from her, impossibly calm and impossibly at ease for someone who just melded minds with a time-traveler with whom he is now displaced in time. She tells him so.

"You seem calm for someone in the presence of the monster she has sworn on her life to destroy." He rebutted. Was she calm? She felt panicked. Her coffee shook in her hand and she still couldn't believe that buying time apparently meant _sipping coffee_ with the Dark Lord—

"What did you see?" He asked, seemingly disinterested but obviously awaiting her answer. What did she see? She saw so much when she was in his head that she could hardly remember it all. Even now, as she observed him, she saw the style of his hair and she could remember the spell it took to style it. She saw his milky-white hands and she remembered the feel of his fathers throat in his hands.

"I saw nothing," She lied, and his hand snapped out and gripped her forearm so hard he tore through skin. Her sleeve slipped back to reveal her stump and she desperately snatched her arm back to cover it. He regained his composure.

"Don't lie to me," He seethed, "Not if you're lies are so pathetic."

"I'm not as Slytherin as you are," She grumbled.

"No," He agreed, "You're a Gryffindor." She bristles at his casual acknowledgement of her history. "Fitting, that it's a pack of Gryffindor's that rise to battle the Heir of Slytherin."

"Stop it," She muttered, taking another sip of her coffee and staring determinedly anywhere but at him.

"You must miss them," He breathed, sounding so sincere but so mocking, "You're friend the chosen one…and that insipid red-head you are so in love with."

She shook her head to banish his voice but he didn't stop.

"How heartbroken would they be," He purred, "To know what a _devil_ you've become—"

Her good hand aimed for his face, but he caught her hand just before it struck. So she thrust her knee up into the table and spilled his hot coffee all over his lap.

He swore nearly pulled out his wand before he took note of the muggles in the establishment and, knowing it isn't bright to call attention to oneself when you travel back in time, refrained. Instead he leveled her with a dark glower, and if there was one positive about this situation it was that she could meet his gaze without fear.

His gaze was heavy and fierce, but there was something in it, something like before—it made her feel hot and antsy and breathless, hyper aware of him and everything he was. She could feel his magic, even as it arced and danced around him, and sometimes she could swear that it enveloped her, cradled her and caressed her and threaded itself into her until she could hardly differentiate his magic from her own.

She looked away from him, grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser and laid them over the spilled coffee on the table, and ignored him.

—

**? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?**

**A lot of shit is happening guys**

**I was going to wait to post this because…you know…it's been a **_**day**_**, but…**

**? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?**

**I honestly don't know how this plot point will be received, hopefully well? Idk man lemme know what you think? ?**

**I don't even—I know its only been a day but I'm just really excited that Tom and Hermione are in the same area ok? ?**


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